


akasenko (in this floating world does anything endure?)

by Bigung



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Reincarnation, Rewrite, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Transmigration, but not really, no beta we die like samurai, probably, there was an attempt at historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28547169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bigung/pseuds/Bigung
Summary: "wherever i am, the world comes after me. it offers me its busyness. it does not believe that i do not want it. now i understand why the old poets of china went so far and high into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist." - mary oliver, the old poets of china.an accidental not-child is raised hidden in a red light district until a fateful event alters the course of her life and leads to her being sent away to be raised by her father.a somewhat accurate look at the redlight districts of japan before the fall of the tokugawa rule, an eventual introduction to myths and legends of japan with a lovely little sprinkle of panic attacks and moral dilemmas. SI-OC.
Relationships: Jiraiya (Naruto)/Original Female Character(s), TBA - Relationship
Comments: 80
Kudos: 297
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts, Japanese Approved, Naruto SI, NarutoStories, Self-Inserts and Original Characters





	1. saru mo ki kara ochiru

**Author's Note:**

> hah, hello. this was originally posted on my ff and kind of abandoned, but at 3am i had the inspiration to rewrite the original version after accidentally making my character in a picrew .-.

Kume was the third daughter of an impoverished peasant family who had once been the relatives of samurai – however the inept ruling of the daimyo and years of war had eroded any and all trace of the honor of belonging to the samurai class. In the spring of her eighth year her parents sent her to serve as a _kamuro_. A child attendant originally contracted for four years of service and then she was to return to her parents. Alas it was not to be. Her parents were illiterate and naïve, the owner of the Ōgiya at that time shrewd and greedy. Her soul and life had already fallen into the hands of people who would never willingly let her go.

Kume became Ayaha and was sent to serve under a high-ranking courtesan named Utahime alongside her fellow attendant, Kureha[1]. Utahime was of a warm temperament and loved the beautiful little girls and trained them well. Ayaha showed an aptitude for literature especially but was in general a bright student who learned and absorbed everything anyone deigned to teach her. Utahime instructed her two kamuro in everything an upper-class courtesan from a first-class teahouse needed to know. The art of conversation, _tea ceremony,_ flower arranging, appreciating incense and calligraphy to dancing and mastery of musical instruments _koto_ , _the flute_ , and _shamisen_ was drilled into them with a discipline belonging to something not unlike that of a military operation.

When her contract was supposed to end on her twelfth birthday, no one came to collect her and so the Mother of the brothel sank her claws into Ayaha’s soul for good. Once again, her name was changed; Ayaha became Karauta[2] following the tradition of incorporating a character of her former mistress’ name into her own and she debuted as a shinzō mere three months from her thirteenth birthday.

Having been trained by Utahime and belonging to a teahouse of good reputation and standing, newly named Karauta was granted her own room and the rank of heyamochi[3] from the start of her career. That was already a notable feat, but she also proved quite popular. Wealthy patrons competed for her favour and her first night – it was won by the second son of a middle-ranking nobleman. Three meetings were arranged, and the winner turned out to be beautiful young man of only 16. He proved his wealth and both the Mother and Utahime approved of his character. A mere month after turning fourteen, on the eve of the third meeting, Karauta consummated the bond between her and her first patron. Having snagged such fat source of income almost immediately after her debut saw her promoted to a zashiki-mochi – a rank just below that of the oiran – with this promotion came a larger apartment, higher pay, and a single child attendant _if you could afford it_ seeing as all the costs of the upkeep of a kamuro fell to the mistress and not the brothel itself.

By the time she was seventeen, Karauta was among the top-ranked courtesans. The highest and most honorable of _oiran_. She had just about taken a cloud ladder to the top of hierarchy and with her ability proven, she was granted her own inherited name – her own myōseki. For the fourth time in her short life, she was granted a new name. Komurasaki was one of the patented names of the Ōgiya and had not been in use for over five years since the former owner of the name retired at the ripe old age of twenty-three, leaving the red light district in a fancy palanquin to marry the heir of a minor noble as his second wife as she had taken him as her only customer in her last year of service. When she got pregnant, the patron paid off the debt she owed the brothel and married her as his second wife - eager to bring her home, since he was still without an heir of his own.

Komurasaki was at only eighteen years old a yobidashi chûsan: living in large resplendent apartments, with not one but two kamuro at her beck and call – in addition to the ability to pick her own clients as she pleased. Even getting a single glimpse of Komurasaki was a privilege, not to mention prolonged time spent in her company. Hell, even getting as far as to be allowed to sit beside her was a prolonged and complicated affair.

You see, anyone wishing for even the chance of courting her needed a letter of recommendation from one of the other first-ranked teahouses of the capital district as proof of their status and character. Usually after another high-ranked regular patron vouched for him. Then they needed to submit an application to the _ageya,_ the house of assignation that she belonged to. Even if one's application was accepted which was not guaranteed - one would still have to meet with the _oiran_ and her entourage three times, paying a small fortune each time, all the while engaging in ceremonial performances, and only after that long arduous procedure, if the _oiran_ chose to go further with the client, would one be able to enjoy the services of the _oiran_ in question. Being rejected by an oiran was quite common, even expected, and competitions for the affection of a given _oiran_ were quite common. No matter how wealthy, without connections or the oiran’s approval, a man simply had no chance to have her. Even applying to become her patron was a privilege. Only nobility, states officials and the most elite of shinobi had the capabilities of even seeing her face. It might almost have been easier to seek audience with a daimyo than with her. 

If one wished to see her, one needed an appointment and she was to be summoned to the teahouse – a parade of her retinue would pass from her private quarters to the teahouse on platformed geta and supported by manservants, musicians, and her attendants – both shinzō and kamuro.

Komurakami was at the peak of her career, so pricey and exclusive a woman that only four men were her regular patrons. However, all of them were noble and so wealthy that even her exorbitant price was but a pittance to them. A minister, another high-ranking member of the government, a lower-ranking prince of a small country and kage-level shinobi were the only men who had ever graced her bed. It was not the pleasures of the flesh that they paid such prices for – nay, it was her company, her expertise, her intelligence, not to mention the prestige of and ability to flaunt having become her patron.

On the twentieth day of the first month in Komurakami’s nineteenth year on this earth, a child was born in Shimabara, the red light district of Tsushi, the capital city of the land of Earth. Her mother was a highest-ranking courtesan belonging to a rather fancy teahouse by the name of Ōgiya and her birth took place in the resplendent inner rooms of that courtesan. This courtesan stifled her screams of agony as she brought the fruit of nine months of painstaking secrecy into the world. This was done under the cover of the darkness in the early morning hours and with the help of only her child attendants. Seemingly having received all the blessings of Benzaiten, patron goddess of artists, dancers and geisha, the young woman formerly named Kume[4] managed to hide her pregnancy and all the ills it brought with it from her employers, her fellow courtesans and even her patrons.

That fateful child came into the world with an eerie stillness – as if knowing the secrecy surrounding her mere existence. If the pregnancy had been uncovered, Komurasaki would have suffered financially and would quite probably have been forced to ingest dubious medicines to get rid of the tiny seed of life she was determined to nurture.

In her ninieteenth year of life, she had decided to go through with her first and only rebellion. Since birth, Komurasaki had been easy-going and ever helpful. She did her duties and helped her family and not even when her impoverished parents had sold her into the ugly world of prostitution had she rebelled or made the smallest of protests. The sacrifice of their daughter enabled the continued survival of the family and the education of a brother she had never even met, but whose maleness made him much more valuable than she. Confucianists would praise her filial piety for sacrificing for the sake of family if nothing else. Truth was that the courtesan hated prostitution and the red light district with every fiber of her being. She had managed to survive, and some might even claim, thrive in the most depraved of environments, but even if she was good at it – she hated everything about it and the cutthroat ruthlessness needed to stay on top. It was a dog-eat-dog world, winners, and losers and no one had any pity for the losers.

Komurasaki had never forgiven her parents for their selfishness, the brothel for their greed nor the patrons for the hunger for the tender flesh of girl-children not even old enough for menstruate yet.

When she realized that she had become pregnant, furious, and ardent feelings of possessiveness and protectiveness made her keep quiet. The nineteen-year old managed to hide the signs under the bulky layers of luxurious silks and manaita obi tied in the front. Her naturally pale disposition hid any feeling of discomfort and her tall willowy frame would allow any noticeable weight gain to be easily dismissed as finishing a growth spurt or simply eating better. 

Having decided, the young woman had plotted and planned with all the intricacy and care of a golden orb weaver. First, she had employed her two child attendants to _subtly_ obtain information from midwifes of supplements to her diet, things to be careful of and what to expect at the birth itself. The young woman had never witnessed a birth and had been the youngest of her siblings when she was sold, and it was not as if she had a mother to go to with her questions. Secondly, she needed a reasonable excuse to not be physically intimate with anyone in the later months of the pregnancy when her body grew heavy with child….

Finding a reasonable excuse had been a bit of a conundrum at first, and Komurakami had paced barefoot across the tatami-covered flooring, biting a perfectly manicured fingernail as she pondered. The whisper of the bottom of the heavy black and gold furosode being dragged along the floor ceased after a good half an hour of pacing back and forth – it suddenly stopped when she caught sight of the unopened applications that had been sent over and suddenly, she knew.

Announcing that she was accepting a new patron would create enough gossip and excitement to shift attention away from her person unto any of her potential new suitors and the process of vetting, accepting, and meeting the new patron was a rather long process. Focusing on a new patron would give her the excuse she needed to be more aloof and less physically available. Rummaging through her books of poetry and scroll of paintings for all the letters of application took a bit, but at last she found them all and settled by the bureau near the window to read the correspondences of the men who fought, scuffled and argued with one another to have her was a lot.

Twenty letters had lain forgotten in the mess of the table she used as an office, and her laughter rang like a flurry of small bells as the authors proved themselves more idiotic and pompous than the next. Having read all her letters and finding only one she would reluctantly be willing to put up with for the purpose of her little plot, Komurakami dropped her elegant seiza and slid down onto her butt, feeling wrung out and a bit frustrated with her would-be patrons. “Not a single exciting prospect..” She sighed stretching her legs to encourage the blood circulation to return to them. “Boring and arrogant stuffy old men with more money than sense.” Unwilling to risk messing up her very heavy hairdo, the young woman refrained from vulgarly sprawling on the floor like a bratty teenager having a tantrum and waved over Hatsune – one of the pair of kamuro her rank allowed her - to assist her in getting up. The many heavy layers of kimono in addition to the weight of all the golden kanzashi in her hair made it a bit of an arduous task on her own.

Absentmindedly patting the girl’s hair, the pale beauty glided across the floor to stand at the open shoji door leading out onto the balcony overlooking the ever-busy main street of the Shimabara district.

A moment that seemed to last forever and a day passed before she was shook from her reverie and turned her head, “Hatsune, would you- “she trailed off catching sight of an unfamiliar scroll laying on top of her tall clothing chest. Quickly and without the poise she normally would have, Komurakami strode across the room to examine the elaborately adorned scroll. Lips pursing curiously, she unfurled it and raised her eyebrows at painting inside it. A beautiful illustration taken from the tale of Genji and as she could tell by the quality of the colours and the skillful pen strokes by quite a famous artist. Lips curling into a small smile, she glanced at the note that fell to ground when she unfurled the hanging scroll.

Hatsune hurried over to pick up the note, handed it over and looked up to find her usually even-keeled and ever poised mistress grinning like the that got the canary. The young girl didn’t dare to read her mistress’ correspondence but anyone would recognize the kamon incorporated into the seal at the bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title means: Even monkeys fall from trees meaning that even experts mess up once in a while.
> 
> the warning of underage is simply the mention of prostitution and the general ages of Komurasaki and her colleagues. It was technically illegal for apprentrice prostitutes - shinzo - to actually serve physically, but there are records of girls becoming tayu andoiran at ages 12 - 14 which is not ideal, but sadly how it worked. 
> 
> [1] Kamuro names were usually paired, like matching colours or something that together formed a line of poetry. Ayaha and Kureha are rather erudite names. They are named after famous weavers from two different ancient Chinese kingdoms
> 
> [2] Chinese poem (唐歌 or から歌), connoting scholarly refinement
> 
> [3] (部屋持, lit. "room-holding") were courtesans below the rank of zashikimochi, who possessed a single room in which to entertain clients. They typically had no attendants. A visit with a heyamochi could cost half as much, up to just as much, as an inexpensive zashikimochi.
> 
> [4] Meaning Everlasting rice (久米 , 粂), with the connotation of everlasting wealth. Could also be spelled 九目, sevenfold foresight (lit. seven + eye, seeing).
> 
> relying heavily on my nerdy studies of oiran in the edo and tokugawa periods :)))) i wish i was better at japanese so i had more sources available to me gdii.


	2. asa meshi mae

Komurasaki named the pale little girl fidgeting in the swaddling clothes, Chikage. She was named not for the flower but instead it was written with the kanji for wisdom and shadow. This name had not been a part of the plan, she had been planning to name her Chieko if she were a girl, in the hope that she would receive a thousand blessings and go out into the world as free and well-loved as her mother had never been. Daughters in peasant families were nothing but financial burdens and Kume had been the third daughter in a row....needless to say, their poverty had not made them rich in love and affection. 

The colour of the wispy locks on her little girl’s head threw that idyllic plan out of the window and the red markings by her eyes were quite telling as well. Her name was chosen to express hopes that she grow up wise, clever, and cautious but unseen and safe in the shadows. A child with such obvious coloring and distinctive markings allowed for no doubt about her parentage and with a father of such renown, anonymity would be the best protection and simplest way of keeping her safe.

Children of prominent men would always have targets on their backs. Children were vulnerable, so easily dealt with and a weakspot that would allow someone to deal a crushing blow without attacking them directly. No one with any sense would miss Chikage's prominent features - without the markings, she could perhaps have been mistaken for a Hatake - not that being a Hatake was any safer than being her father's child. Chikage turned into a beautiful baby as soon as she stopped being red-faced and pink. Her skin was as pale as her mother's, unblemished but for the markings on her face. Her eyes were big and the pupils black as night. It was her hair that that gave pause, though. It was white as snow. A clear hint at her parentage. It was thankfully straight and manageable unlike the messy tresses of her sire. Being so recognizeable gave her mother a fright and caused more than just a few nights of anxious insomnia as she wondered whether to inform the father… if only for the safety of Chikage. It was clear that she would draw undesirable attention the moment she stepped outside the walls of her mother’s apartments if nothing was done to obscure that.

Komurasaki and her two ten-year old kamuro kept the baby a secret from everyone else in the retinue and said not a single word to anyone about her. From day one they hid her within the innermost and private rooms of her mother: rooms that had thankfully always been off-limits for anyone but herself - a convenient way of making sure no one would stumble on her by accident and not raising suspicions by changing her routine. They raised her within the confines of that room, Hatsune and Kôcho, more babysitters than kamuro most of the time while their mistress entertained her patrons.

Three harrowing and stressful years of secrecy passed like that until the time came that they would create a legitimate reason for her to be in the care of her mother. They cooked up a plan and smuggled the sleeping toddler out in an old book chest, placed her with an old woman bribed to come drop off the child in front of the gates to the district. Anxiously the young mother waited until dawn dyed the sky in pinks and oranges before she sent out her child attendants for errands as usual. The children returned breathless and chirping excitedly to the Mother of the brothel that they had found a baby! It was so exciting! A tiny child left all alone in the gates of their district before the gates had even opened yet! 

The middle-aged woman who had owned their contracts had never been beautiful enough to become a courtesan but had instead worked her way up from being a Bantō-Shinzō - a clerk managing the entourage of the high-ranking courtesans – to owning the place. Needless to say, her mind was sharp as newly made blade and shrewder than a centuries old dragon. Eyebrows raised, Kasuga glanced at the beautiful dark-haired little girl in the arms of Hatsune, staring back at her with an eerie _knowing_ gaze that simply did not belong on a child that young.

A small frown marred her forehead. It was not unusual that impoverished families sold off their children to the red light districts, but they were rarely just left on their doorsteps for free. Perhaps she had slipped out of another teahouse?

Komurasaki interrupted her pondering as she came down the stairs, still dressed only in her sleeping attire, to inquire what the ruckus was all about, poised as ever and clearly disapproving of having the quiet of morning disturbed. Obediently they once again chirped of how they had stumbled across the poorly dressed child wandering inside the gates of the district, they hardly took the time to draw breath before beseeching prettily as they’d been trained to do: “May we keep her, Mother?”

The girls asked this in unison, eyes big and watery as if they had brought home a puppy instead of a child. Kasuga winced as she glanced at the kid again – new additions to the merchandise was a costly affair and it would be a long time before there was any return on the investment of taking her in. It wasn’t even certain that she would ever earn enough to pay back the debt of raising her. Kasuga glanced at her prized courtesan and knew that she had only a few years left before retirement. It was her success, her celebrity and skill that kept them as well off as they were, but there was no assurance that their newfound affluence would continue.

Komurasaki waved a pale hand dismissively as she turned around to make her way back to her rooms. “I will provide the coin if it means you will be quiet.” She drawled without a care as she no doubt was on her way back up to sleep another few hours before her appointment with Akihito-sama that evening.

The curtains of their little play fell and so they successfully created a fiction that would keep them and the baby safe for a little while yet. They saw no need to draw up a contract for a toddler not even out of diapers, but now she had free roam of the teahouse and could freely play with the other girls. The little girl was accepted seamlessly as if she had always been there, and was just like the others - dressed in brightly colored kimono, but with hair routinely dyed black with ink and chestnut exract.

Chikage ate breakfast with the other girls, helped with cleaning the floors - clumsy as she was and started taking lessons with the girls she could now rightfully call sisters. Not yet old enough to be sent out to buy snacks or deliver gifts, but staying in the rooms of her mistress - clearly a new favourite despite the courtesan's lukewarm initial reception of her. 

Another year passed like this, Chikage living like a favoured kamuro and dressed in kimono more colourful and elaborate than the wings of butterflies. Her mother - who she could only ever refer to as older sister - delighted in spending silver like water to put her little girl in the finest of silks. Chikage had a kimono for every month of the year, each one in brilliant shades of the seasonal colours like red, blue and pink and covered in motifs of temari, dragonflies and blossoms. She recieved some that the older kamuro had only worn once before they had outgrown it, but it was an unseeming level of luxury for a child growing that quickly to have that many kimono. No one bothered comment on it to Komurakami, though since she was paying for it out of her own pocket and in any case, the kimono were made in bigger sizes and hemmed to fit her, so that when she eventually grew, all they needed to do was take down the hem a bit more.

As the months passed, the little girl grewto look just like the ichimatsu doll that she had been gifted by one of her mother's patrons for her birthday. They had taken to calling her Hina for her doll-like features and with her hair dyed black, long and reaching her shoulders, tied with little bows and always splendidly dressed. Hina or hime were more easier nicknames than Chikage in anycase and it seemed a fitting name for the aloof child. 

Little hime-chan, the servants called her, because she seemed so out of place in their teahouse. Watchful and cautious, more likely to keep her own company than to play with her age-mates. She was usually in the close vicinity of her mistress' every moment that was allowed. She was kept more firmly away from the truth of their profession than the others, never went out unescorted and despite having a whole box of toys, beautiful temari balls and glass-eyed dolls - the child was more enamored with the bookshelves lining her mistress' apartments. The little princess seemed and lived more like the child of a noblewoman than an akasenko. She hardly even dirtied her robes like any other child would - not spills of soup and grains of rice, no dust or grass stains - only a few times had she managed to dirty her kimono with ink but that could happen to even adults if they were unlucky. Even her speech was formal and courtly - though limited as her vocabulary was - most assumed that she was simply mimicking her mistress and her speaking patterns earlier than was expected of her and found it adorable. 

Some of the servants did find hearing such formal and archaic words from the lips of a child a bit unnerving - sometimes it seemed as if she was an ancient ghost inhabiting the body of a child rather than an actual little girl. There was a even a small rumor of a little _zashiki-warashi_ gracing their teahouse. The head of the kitchens, an old woman named Mutsu, was very superstitious as the elderly tend to be and shortly after the rumor of a zashiki-warashi living in the inner rooms started spreading, azuki meshi was served almost daily instead of on important days and festivals, oddly enough. No one bothered saying anything - the old woman in the kitchens wasn't someone you argued with. Being on the safe side wouldn't hurt anyone.

Chikage had learned very quickly, as quickly as her mother had twelve years prior, to read and write - though her calligraphy could not yet be called anything but clumsy. Baby fat fingers made it quite difficult to write anything elegantly. She was mere merely passable at dancing and atrocious with the instruments quite frankly. She couldn't carry a tune either, but her posture and pokerface was impeccable and soon her calligraphy would be as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title means child's play.  
> a zashiki-warashi is yokai or spirit that do pranks and bring good fortune and prosperity to the houses they live in. people would feed them azuki meshi because they were rumored to be fond of it.  
> https://bit.ly/38fKUAZ a child with an ichimatsu doll.


	3. sumeba miyako

Chikage, better known as hime-chan or hina-hime, had lived quite a pleasant life in the Ōgiya. Four years had passed since she had found herself helpless and unusually near-sighted, swaddled in beautiful fabrics and carried around by a woman who without her makeup looked quite like Kitagawa Keiko from that one car movie that everyone raved in the early 2000s. It had been quite a shock to wake up a toddler one day from the next and for the life of her, she couldn’t recall what could have possibly happened to her. For a while she hoped it was all just a very weird dream, but after a week it had simply lasted too long and was entirely too boring to be anything but a form of reality.

The language barrier was an issue, her Japanese vocabulary quite limited to the most basic of words that you pick up watching movies and keeping up with manga and the disaster that is meme culture- so she knew things like familial titles: mother, father, older sister. Basic necessities: water, to eat and hurts. A few badly remembered song lyrics, but apparently, she had never learned the words for how to ask for the bathroom…which was mortifying when she knew lyrics from tales of Earthsea, a movie she’d seen but the once and yet had been forced to mime needing the bathroom when she stopped using diapers.

She knew that she was a baby, in a country not her own - most likely japan given the language and the kimono and the sliding doors - and in a time most certainly not her own – this much was obvious as soon as she stopped having a panic attack about everything she had lost. A mostly finished bachelor’s degree in literature, her family who would undoubtedly worry themselves sick and her poor affectionate gremlin of a cat that she had rescued the year prior. After severely repressing any thoughts of the beforementioned issues; it quickly became clear that she was some of kind of secret. She was never brought outside the room she was in, no trips to the outside or to a doctor for regular checkups. Only three people ever saw her or cared for her. One she assumed to be her mother, the other two were prepubescent girls that she privately referred to as older sisters. They carried her back and forth in the rooms, sang lullabies to her and entertained her with toys and the little pellet drum called a den-den daiko. Never one to make things difficult for people, Chikage was the quietest baby you could imagine. Her cries when in need were softer and quieter than those of kittens who granted could be incredibly loud if they wanted to be.

When she grew a little older, having to learn how to roll over, crawl and sit up by herself, the transmigrated soul was sure that her mother was a very expensive prostitute. She wouldn’t call herself an expert on anything but ventured a guess that they were somewhere before the nineteenth century, maybe even as far back as the warring states period. A rather large margin of error but her Japanese history was spotty at best. So, her guess was all based on conjecture from what little she understood of gossip and casual conversation between her new little family. There had been mention of various daimyo and of battles, but not names she could recognize like Tokugawa or Toyotomi, Meiji or even Oda. They also mentioned cities she’d never heard of…..it was all a bit odd.

In any case, time passed as it does whether one likes it or not. She turned two years old[1], then three and suddenly she was toddler. It was around this time that they played out their little act – Hatsune and Kôcho dyed her hair with ink and dressed her in a rough, washed out hemp kimono, placed her in an old book chest and had it carried out of their teahouse. It wasn’t exceedingly uncomfortable since she slept most of the way, but the trip wasn’t what one would call pleasant. An old lady let her out while it was still dark and led her by the hand to the gates of the Shimabara district, patted her head and then left her there to wait for someone to come pick her up.

A cold half-hour had passed before Hatsune came running, Kôcho following close behind. They exclaimed over her for the purposes of the witnesses – people had begun passing by as the dawn broke – and made a big show of asking her where her mother had gone, where she lived and how old she was. At last, she had been scooped up by Hatsune who was the strongest of the two kamuro and carried her back to the Ōgiya. There she had met the mean-faced Mother of the teahouse and had found herself a bit fascinated by the old lady who wasn’t all that old… maybe in her forties as she sat in her black and rather austere kimono for someone who had probably been a courtesan herself once. Though probably not a popular one, she wasn’t very pretty by their standards. Her nose was too big and her mouth too wide to be the kind of classical beauty that the ranks of oiran demanded. Not knowing her name, Chikage dubbed her Yu-baba and had to keep from snickering at the rather fitting name.

She only hoped Yu-baba wouldn’t steal her name and force her into a contract like her namesake had to Chihiro. That…would not be great. Chikage had no wishes to fall in her mother’s footsteps and she knew well enough that if she wasn’t careful, then it wouldn’t be up to her whether she did or not.

Their elaborate little play worked like magic and she gained a lot more freedom. They continued dyeing her hair every week, but now she was free to roam the teahouse, play with the other girls and eat breakfast with everyone else. It was loud, but also rather fun. Brightly dressed girls in shades of red, with either long hair or bobbed to mimic the hairstyle of a boy and all named to match one another. Futaba and Midori, Takeno and Sasano, Onami and Menami, and Sodeno paired with Wakaba. So, on and so forth – there were fourteen kamuro all in all. Ten of them belonged to one middle-ranking courtesan each and four belonged to a higher-ranking oiran who’d earned the right to own two kamuro. The other ten were passed and borrowed back and forth. It made for a very lively place to grow up.

They screeched with glee as they raced across the lacquered hardwood floors when cleaning, always trying to best one another. They squabbled like siblings over flower accessories and child appropriate kanzashi, compared kimonos, played Otadame which involved juggling and Kakurenbo, which was basically hide and seek. They ran errands for their older sisters. They splashed and played together in the baths and ribbed each other good naturedly in classes.

When Komurasaki had time, she read to the girls who would come knocking at her shouji doors, she dramatically told them folk stories, legends and explained mythology. Frightened them with tales of spirits that played in the rain, licked oil from lamps and two mouthed women. She sang them songs and seemed to delight in their joyful noise. When she did have patrons, they returned to their own rooms or went out to coerce new customers to follow them home. Not Chikage, though - still too young to leave the safety of the teahouse, she usually retreated into the innermost room or remained hidden behind elaborate painted screens reading or napping or drawing frivolously childish pictures. It really wasn’t a bad childhood.

However, in the words of Robert Frost, nothing gold can stay and nothing good ever lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title means where you live, you come to love it,
> 
> [1] When kids are born they’re one years old, that’s just how it works in both japan and korea. 😊  
> Hatsune and Kôcho are named for characters in the Tale of Genji, just like Komurasaki whose name is a varition of name, Murasaki.


	4. nakitsura ni hachi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a gore and explicit violence warning for this one.

In Chikage’s fifth[1] year and Komurasaki’s twenty-third year, a lot of bad things happened. A minor epidemic of _rinbyou **[2]**_ broke out in Shimabara. It was ugly and many of the courtesans fell sick. The patrons fell sick as well and so there was a steep dive in income. Someone died because it managed to spread to her heart valves. An upstanding woman contracted it from her philandering husband, and pregnant as she was, had spread it to the child in her womb and unfortunately the child did not live long. It was a scandal, and, in the end, the court felt the need to deal with the situation before it grew too large for them to contain. They sent healers and med-nin to deal with the outbreak. The first few months of that year were pretty grim.

As spring bled into summer, the patrons regained their courage and started missing their favored courtesans, and soon the district that only a month before had looked like a ghost town grew busy and bustling again. The voices of vendors, customers and children laughing returned with an ease that made it seem like it had never been gone. 

Komurasaki had started interviewing a new prospective client, a government official of a respectable rank. He had been a bit ungenerous with tips, but he had been vouched for by the Tomitoya teahouse and came with a letter of recommendation from the daimyo of the Tea Country, Maeda-sama. With the recommendation and the lack of income the last few months, his application was accepted, and they had met twice. He had received chopsticks and bowls with his name on it, was referred to as a ‘regular’ and had been allowed to sit beside Komurasaki at the last meeting. She wasn’t charmed by him but figured the income itself was enough to put up with his company, though she would not be letting him in between her sheets – even entertaining a man this arrogant and frankly stupid was below her dignity and she had every right to refuse him.

Their third meeting had been arranged. They spent a few boring but amicable hours together, he boasted of himself, his exploits, and his wealth, she pretended to enjoy his presence, they ate a meal and watched the geisha perform a few songs until at last, they retreated back to her apartments for privacy.

They played a game of go and conversed about dull subjects like politics and what he thought the daimyo should do. Carefully sidestepping any agreement with his criticism of the daimyo – because speaking so bluntly where others could overhear about your opinions on a ruler was asking for trouble. After all, even the mutterings of a man in a well are widely known after three years. Komurasaki had once been named for everlasting rice, to hope for lasting wealth and while that may have been rather on point for her career, the name could also mean seven-folded foresight and that was if possible, even more fitting of her character. One did not climb to the utmost rank of oiran, become so famous and exclusive that had she lived thirty years earlier, she would have been honored as a tayu, without being cautious and shrewd.

When the buffoon of a man made overtures and hinted that they should move this to her bed, she politely refused to acknowledge it and instead hinted that he should take his leave by demurring that he was a busy man, much to valuable to spend his time with her. Understanding that he had been rebuffed, however politely and that he would not be allowed to summon her another time, the government official grew enraged and forced himself on her. He had risen from his place on the floor, overturned the board and thoroughly slapped her, then grabbed hold of the collar of the resplendent kimono, and shook her as he screamed and bellowed. “How dare you refuse me, you lowly whore!?”

Komurasaki had called for help, frankly the ruckus of the fight should have been enough of signal for her man-servants to come barging in.

But the one who responded was none other than the little girl who had napping in the innermost room when the altercation had begun. Confused, she rubbed her eyes and sprung up to crack open the sliding door and see what in the world was causing such a ruckus. At the sight of her mother being assaulted, Chikage had a split second where she was in absolute shock. An oiran was an honored individual, the oiran took the honorable seat when meeting with her customer – it was an accepted convention that the oiran was the superior in the relationship with her patron. That someone dared to yell expletives and physically assault someone whom even the imperial clan members, low-ranked as they were, treated with careful and utmost respect was frankly unbelievable.

Then he had thrown her mother to the ground, gotten on top of her and set to choking the life of her by wrapping his fat fingers around her thin, elegant throat.

That had sent Chikage into action. The fusuma door was thrown open with a bang that the piggish patron didn’t even bother to look up at, and small socked feet skidded on the tatami flooring in her haste. Almost stumbling, Chikage caught sight of a prospective weapon. Hair ornaments littered the floor and grabbing one of the many silver _bira-bira_ kanzashi that Komurasaki usually wore in her elaborate hairstyle, the five-year old had jumped on the assaulting man’s back, stabbing him over and over with the sharp end of the ornament. Now screaming in pain instead of fury, he had attempted to throw off the little brat that stuck onto him like a burr.

She seemed impossible to shake off until he let go of Komurasaki’s throat so he could stand up and properly get a hold of the child. The toddler-but-not had managed to leave ugly gouges on his throat and cheek but puncturing the skin had proven harder than expected. Suddenly thrown to the ground, she was winded by the impact and started coughing as she choked on her spit. The portly man kicked out after her and she had the presence of mind to curl up, so he wouldn’t hurt anything too important.

Shocked, terrified but back in the land of the living, Komurasaki was coughing and almost blinded by tears as she heard a kitten-ish oof of impact. Having realized that her daughter had joined the fray and that her client had _kicked her,_ the woman who’d been raised among arguably the most depraved of people: sadists, torturers and woman-haters who had hidden their darkness behind measured looks and courtly language grew furious. She who knew how to avoid them but had never raised her hand in violence all of her life grabbed hold of the tetsubin[3] teapot and swung it with all her might onto his head from behind.

A blunt sound of impact made her wince and he turned around, a crazed look on his face and stumbled to the side before grabbing his head and falling to his knees, probably severely concussed. Sensing a bit of a lull, but not an end to the fight, Chikage inched over to the corner where he had placed his ornate, obviously mostly for show, tantō beside the go board as he continued to yell from his kneeling position, calling them all the names under the sun.

Fuck, she stumbled and hit her shoulder against the wall, drawing his attention. Red faced and murderous, he ran at her and somehow, she managed to unsheathe the tantō before he was on her. The sheath fell to the floor, unnoticed.

He came with such force that she hardly had to do anything but hold the sword as he impaled himself on it. It punctured right below the navel and as his knees lost strength, gravity and his weight dragged him down and she kept a firm hold on the sword, he managed to disembowel himself with her assistance.

She had managed to puncture both stomach and intestines, she realized a bit distantly as the sickening smell of bile and fecal matter mixed with the coppery smell of blood. It sickened and nauseated her, but Chikage – covered in cold sweat, pale as a ghost and stomach roiling at the smell stubbornly held his gaze until the last vestiges of life left his eyes. It was only then that she drew back, hands shaking and salivating as her stomach prepared to empty its contents on the floor.

It was only then as she had effectively assisted a man with committing _harakiri **[4]**, _that the manservants, guards and other customers burst into the room, their own weapons drawn, to see what in the world had happened. Everything was quiet for a moment as they witnessed the scene. Furniture was overturned, the teapot laying in a corner leaking sencha and blood stained even the walls. Komurasaki stood at the window, hands covering her mouth, seemingly frozen and her little kamuro stood in the middle of room quite clearly the one who struck the finishing blow. 

Blood had spattered onto her face and her beautiful new kimono; it stained the light blue fabric and ruined the embroidered camellia flowers. 

It was in that moment that her stomach refused to cooperate with her anymore and she bent over and emptied her half-digested dinner of kabayaki and the mochi she’d enjoyed as a dessert onto the body of the government official where he had fallen. He was in the process of leaking his organs onto the floor and now also covered in the vomit of the child he'd assaulted. It was ironic how a man so boastful and arrogant met such an ignoble and inglorious end. 

One might wonder why it took so long for anyone to come to their rescue, but while the whole altercation had felt long and never-ending, it had hardly lasted more than four minutes, 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] As mentioned last time, she’s actually only four.  
> [2] Gonorrhea  
> [3] It’s cast iron and used for sencha.  
> [4] Ritualized suicide, also known as seppuku, rather well-known samurai practice.
> 
> chapter title literally means a bee to a crying face, implying misfortunes seldom come alone; "When it rains, it pours."


	5. rakka eda ni kaerazu, hakyou futatabi terasazu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mention of flashbacks, trauma and kind of victimshamy.

The vomiting did the trick of reminding everyone that there had just been an attempted murder in their teahouse. Other guests were ushered back into the rooms and a runner was sent to inform the magistrate of the altercation that had taken place. Komurasaki was brought to the Mother’s quarters and a physician was called to examine her injuries. The heroic or murderous kamuro - depending on who was retelling the story - was gently led to strip out of her kimono and down to her nagajuban before being led to the bathhouse and thoroughly cleaned by gentle older servants who still had their wits about them. They had lived through two wars and hardly skipped a beat in the face of a gruesome scene – it could never be compared to the battlefield, the hanging trees, or the mass graves.

Redressed in a subdued black kimono with motifs of flowers and temari, and hair dried but still hanging loose, the toddler-but-not was brought to the Mother’s quarters as well for a check up to make sure no irreparable damage had been done. Chikage was blank-faced and pale, hands still shaking and mind seemingly a thousand miles away, but she wasn’t crying. That was almost more frightening than the corpse laying upstairs to some of the other adults. The rest of the kamuro had been sent to entertain the guests until their mistresses arrived or the magistrate sent someone to ask for their accounts of events.

The appointed magistrate and the governor arrived at the teahouse within moments of each other, both looking as harried and frightened as if they were the incarnation of Izanagi himself being chased by the Yomotsu-shikome.[1] They had clearly dropped whatever they had been doing and arrived wearing only their nagagi[2], having not even had the time to change or grab their official haori to drape over themselves, before they had rushed for the Shimabara district on horseback instead of taking their much slower, but more appropriate ornate sedan chairs.

Mother and daughter were seated on each their side at a low table, one being fed icechips as she had started running a small fever which the physician had called psychogenic and explained as a normal response to a traumatic event. The other drinking tea to stave off the nausea and to soothe her aching and rapidly bruising throat. Statements and testimony were made and given with some gentle prodding. It took some patience for momentary distractions, and the tendency to drift off into one’s own thoughts after a brush with death. Others were dispatched to take witness statements of other patrons and courtesans inhabiting the neighboring room.

The body was removed within the hour after the event. The shoji, the tatami and wall hangings were replaced; the room aired out and cleaned. At last, everything was put back in its place and it almost seemed as if nothing unusual had taken place in the apartments. It was a bit shocking for Komurasaki to return to the rooms and find them almost as they had been the day before – like a man hadn’t just strangled her, hadn’t just assaulted her daughter, hadn’t just ~~been killed~~ died on her floor and oozed his bodily fluids and various assorted organs everywhere. It was almost more traumatic to see it unchanged because it made her question what was real and what was not. Had that really just happened or was it all just a nightmare?

Idly wondering whether she should ask for a priest or a miko-sama to come bless the room and make sure his ghost didn’t take up permanent residence, Komurasaki took her daughter and crawled under the covers of the futon that someone had been kind enough to lay out for them. Chikage huddled close, soaking up physical affection and assurances of safety like a greedy little sponge and it didn’t take long before sleep came and took her.

Sleep was more elusive for the older of the two. Every second of the altercation played over and over in her mind and every possible ending reared its head: Chikage waking from her nap to find her mother strangled and long dead, Chikage beaten to death to defend her mother, them both laying dead at brutish man’s feet for something as pathetic as his arrogant ego. At some point, sleep arrived nonetheless and each time one of them woke from bad dreams, the other would call out “baku-san, come eat our dreams” before returning to sleep.

The next morning, their colleagues were sympathetic and cautious around them. A week after the sympathy had gone and the caution had become skittishness, but mostly around the little child murderer. It was a ghastly thought – a child, nay toddler still, who had killed a grown man. It made her frightening to the other girls but also to the adults who were unnerved by the lack of hysteria and tears that should have followed such a traumatic event. But none came. After the initial shock had passed, it seemed as if the child filed the death away. She expressed no guilt, no shame, no remorse of having taken a life and it frightened them. It was unnatural and so it was that Chikage got the reputation of being ominous.

Komurasaki was angry and frustrated with her colleagues for their alarmist, superstitious ways of thinking – she knew how many nightmares her little girl had woken from, sweaty and teary-eyed. She also knew that it was situation of her and him, it had been life or death and Chikage had chosen the life of her mother and herself over a strangers’. It wasn’t strange at all – Komurasaki had no regrets about his death either, only that her daughter had been forced to something so awful that young. She regretted having put her child in that situation, but also knew that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

The magistrate agreed with her. He ruled it a justified death, done in self-defense and ordered the family of the dead man to pay recompense for the assault and the insult he’d done them. A letter arrived from Maeda-sama, the daimyo of Tea country who extended his most sincere apologies for having recommended a man who had attempted to murder her and her kamuro.

Words were wind, however and what was done, was done. There were no take-backs or what-ifs and despite the government declaring them free of guilt, people still walked a large circle around Chikage who’d become somewhat infamous amongst the akasenko – the boys thought her cool and somewhat supernatural, while the girls were just plain scared of her and the ghost of the patron, they were convinced followed her everywhere. People didn’t avoid Komurasaki as much – she hadn’t killed anyone after all, but people still whispered about her and their treatment of Chikage repulsed her.

She lost none of her patrons, thankfully. They had been picked with much more care and in much less desperate times and had been loyal to her for years. She’d exchanged letters with those living in different countries and had worried visit from those who lived nearby.

Two weeks after the assault, by then thoroughly fed up with the teahouse and it’s inhabitants, Komurakami sent two letters. One to Chikage’s father and another addressed to Konohagakure, requesting a specific shinobi for an escort from Tsushi[3], the capital of Earth Country, into Fire Country – more specifically, to Konohagakure itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Hags of hell. Its Izanami that sets them after him for breaking his promise.
> 
> [2] The male kimono, its formal if you wear hakama and haori, but just wearing the nagagi is rather informal and relaxed.
> 
> [3] No canon capital name. Fire country capital is called Keishi, so I named earth capital Tsushi.
> 
> chapter title literal translation: Fallen blossom doesn't return to the branch, a broken mirror can not be made to shine implying that What's done is done; "There's no use crying over spilled milk"


	6. hara wo waru

It had been years since he had last set foot in the capital of _Tsuchi no Kuni_. Even longer still since he had been in its red light district. Maybe five years? A bit less? Maa, minor details. Ruffling the white mess that was his hair, the legendary Sannin made his way through the gates of Shimabara district, and entered directly on to the main street, humming quite happily to himself as he eyed the middle-ranking courtesans on show through the teahouse windows casually.

Reminiscing fondly, he recalled that the courtesan who had requested him by name in the missive to mission’s office had only achieved the rank of _oiran_ a while after he'd been her client. He was technically someone who could be considered a patron, but it was kind of stretching the rules of convention. He had never asked to be recommended or vouched for, had never applied for her, nor sent her invaluable gifts like others likely had to earn her favour – he had no meetings and had paid no price for her company. Which was lucky for him since _oiran_ were terribly expensive women to entertain oneself with, however much their refined and educated minds were a nice break from the mindlessness of the masses and the vulgarity of the lower-ranking prostitutes who played dumb. Only men frightened by women wanted them stupid, he’d always said. The fact that Tsunade-hime had frightened him more times in his life than he could count had no influence on this opinion whatsoever. Tsunade-hime was one of a kind, a kunoichi – no, _shinobi_ with no equal. Not in his mind anyway, now if only the hime would look upon him a bit more fondly…

So caught up in his musings about how great a couple him and Senju heiress would make, Jiraiya almost passed by the Ōgiya, the teahouse where the infamous and celebrated Komurasaki-chan belonged to. Karauta-chan had been her name then. Their tryst had been a onetime thing, but she had been worth every ryo he paid that night. He hadn’t paid her personally, but he did end up spending a fair amount bribing her then-kamuro to let him in. Truly a queen among her peers: a generation or two back, he was sure she could have easily ascended to the ranks of tayuu instead. Why she had yet to have been snatched up as a bride for a smaller samurai clan or a government official was a mystery...Actually now that she had been promoted, Komurasaki might even be lucky enough to snag a place as a nobleman's younger son's wife or an wealthy heir’s second wife, perhaps….even a daimyo's concubine or lesser wife wasn’t out of her reach.

He had created a character based on her. How could he not? She'd appeared in his third book, a woman with a tragic past who ended up in love triangle but at least got to live happily ever after. 

He had likened her eyes to amethysts; her hair to the darkness of the night, her skin to the purest new fallen snow and her cupid bow lips painted crimson like the blood those of his profession spilled so easily. The slope of her back was the most graceful arch he'd ever seen, not to mention that behind of hers. Komurasaki was an ethereal being and he had not even started on her brilliant mind. He had never been ashamed to say that she had been a muse in more than one of his _Icha Icha_ books. Sighing at the thought of laying eyes on her again, he winced when he flipped open the _saiken **[1]**_ to check her prices. Then he was more worried about whether or not he would be reimbursed for the price he’d have to pay just for informally meeting her.

It was an amusing thought to wonder what she would have become had she been raised in a hidden village like Konohagakure. He was sure the world would not have known what hit it – not unlike that dead patron of hers. Word on the street was that her rooms had looked as though massacre had taken place. Adjusting for how rumors tended to grow more and more exaggerated the further out it got, there had been maybe a puddle on the floor. No one had mentioned anything of the weapon that had been used – which was a bit of a curiosity for him. A woman could kill as well as any man, but courtesans had no real access to weapons. They might carry a kaiken tantō, but such a dagger was hardly more than twenty centimeters long and would not do much damage in the hands of a civilian. 

Senbon wasn’t a feasible option – it was one of the tools of the shinobi trade, not something easily acquired by a courtesan – no matter her rank or fame. What could it have been then? The victim was government official and had presumably carried a sword of some sort – at least for the ceremony and show of rank. Was that the murder weapon? He’d heard mention of someone kind of ghost child might have been there, but rumors that took on a supernatural flavor were dubious and usually rooted in ignorance.

Another question that he could not seem to find an answer to was why she had requested for him to pay a visit in the first place. Going as far as contacting Hiruzen-sensei all the way in Konohagakure, simply to get ahold of him? That was rather involved and quite odd. She was hardly in need of his _expertise_ …He giggled at the thought. He stopped in front of the Ōgiya and took note of the sheer size of the building, it was well-kept and clean. Traditional in every way and he noted the painted shoji and the expensive wall-hangings, the elaborate ikebana displays.

The Sannin pondered on the reason why he was summoned – he, how amusing. She was the one who had the rank of the summoned courtesan, be she did the summoning - as he was led through the large teahouse by the Obaba-san in her luxurious black houmongi kiono. Up the lacquered stairs, the shining floors and past the rooms occupied by other clients until she gracefully kneeled down and drew the fusuma sliding door painted with cranes and flowers, ornate with gold paint to the side. Stepping into the antechamber with a short nod to the older woman, Jiraiya ignored the beautifully dressed courtesan arranged in the bigger room attached to the one he was in. No, he looked around first – taking note of the clearly new furniture; the new walls and tatami mets not yet as used as the ones surrounding it. There was not a trace scent of blood left after what had supposedly been a bloody affair.

Turning his eyes to Komurasaki, he silently took his time drink her in. As _oiran_ are known to do, she wore a veritable fortune's worth of lavishly adorned fabrics. The inner layers of her outfit were respectively: white, an intense shade of red, turquoise embroidered with ornate silvery blossoms, and finally on top of those was a gloriously dark blue uchikake even more ornate than the turquoise layer, embroidered with peonies, fans and scrolls – her whole outfit probably weighed at least thirty kg. The manaita obi tied at her front had black background fabric but was so elaborately embroidered with dark green dragons and gilden crests that it looked more gold than black. She truly was vision. Every inch of her face, neck and chest were covered in the white makeup, oshiroi, that was common for the profession.

Even her hair was more ornate and eye-catching than any other _oiran_ he'd seen. Bright colored ribbons tied in beautiful knots. A whole jewelry box of expensive looking golden kanzashi was in her hair, the customary six golden ones and bira-bira kanzashi in silver, bands of pearls and more silver hanging from them, chiming softly with every breath and whisper of movement.

" _Danna-sama?"_ Komurasaki called with slight amusement in her tone, poised and experienced enough to know he was struck dumb by her, and was standing there staring like a fool on his first visit to a red light district. Her measured voice brought him out of his reverie and returned him to reality.

Shaking his head, Jiraiya moved forward and dropped onto the cushion in front of her carelessly, writing off his momentary lapse of mental facility with a chuckle. "Excuse me, Komurasaki-chan. Your beauty stunned me and as a connoisseur of beauty, there was naught I could do, but halt and appreciate the masterpiece that is you." The courtesan puffed on her long pipe and huffed with amusement. "Danna-sama musn't tease me." She hummed pleasantly, knowing his words are all bluster to cover up his lapse, and putting out the pipe, emptying it into a cup with a decisive little bang.

"Many moons have passed since my lord last came to visit this one." The woman pouted subtly, turning her face away from him and pretending at being sullen and offended by this lack of loyalty, making the shinobi rub the back of his head apologetically. "Ah, sorry 'bout that, Komurasaki-chan. I'm a busy man, y'know. Always on the move. You know I would have never left your side if it was up to me." Jiraiya apologized awkwardly, falling back into casual language in an attempt to flatter the beautiful courtesan. Women liked flattery...normal ones did, anyway. Not that she was in anyway _normal._

Komurasaki turned her face toward his again, tilting it prettily – knowing full well which face to deploy to get what she wants and watched him through the corner of her eye as she had been taught to do as a child. "If my lord says it is so, then certainly it must be true.” She replied, indirectly doubting his words but not calling him out on it.

Jiraiya laughed at the small play they’d put on and wished the easy banter between them could be replicated between him and Tsunade-hime. Such easy back and forth would let her see his charms. Their only modes were serious conversation and her beating him blue. If they could banter like he did with Komurasaki, then maybe she would already have become his. On the other hand, maybe he would have been hers. A more likely scenario than vice versa– after all, she was the one with the superior social status and he would become an adopted husband and join her clan, take her clan name. Senju Jiraiya didn’t sound all that bad. Oh well. Deciding to end their polite, verbal game he asked bluntly:" I heard you had an altercation with a client. Were you injured?"

Komurasaki’s face paled slightly even under the makeup. It was perhaps a bit insensitive to refer it it that directly. Opening his mouth in an attempt to smooth over his clumsy words, the courtesan waved her small, delicate hand in a dismissive gesture. "Nothing of permanence, however this one feared death had come calling." She admitted quietly, touching still-tender bruises on her neck that, under the oshiroi makeup covering every inch of visible skin, were blotchy shades of yellow and purple .

He sat in silence for a moment, willing her to speak, to elaborate on it. At last, he found himself forced to speak as she seemed to sink into her own thoughts , adrift in memory. “Did your manservants take care of him? I heard it was…messy.” He glanced at her willowy form, thin and beautiful and doubted how a woman of her size could fight off anyone bigger than a child. Of course, he knew better. Size was not a reliable indication of strength or lethality. A genin could kill a jounin if said jounin made a single mistake and looks were nothing if not deceiving. There was, after all, a reason why kunoichi were such efficient assassins. Underestimating women had killed more than a few foolish men. Jiraiya was many things, but not foolish. He only played dumb to allow others to underestimate him.

The brilliantly robed courtesan grimaced, for a second he could have sworn that it was guilt he saw on her face. Komurasaki leaned towards him in a way any other amorous courtesan would have done and gazed up at him with clear consideration. She was measuring him up and wondering what he’d heard on the street. Jiraiya's eyebrows raised at the odd behavior. “Was it you then?” He fished, feeling rather out of his debt and wondering what he was missing. She shook her head and her eyes flickered to an ornate screen.

"Who did, then?" He inquired and followed her glance toward the dark, finely painted folding screen in the corner. Behind it the screen, he could sense a tiny chakra signature - that of a _kamuro_ he assumed.

"Come hither, child." Komurasaki called softly, much more gently than any other _oiran_ usually addressed their attendants. A few seconds passed and a tiny brightly dressed form emerged from behind the folding screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: a heart-to-heart (talk); be frank; tell all
> 
> [1] A best-selling book, it listed prices, who belonged to which teahouse, where it lay within the district and which kamuro belonged to who, so you could send letters or ask whether she really loves you or not.


	7. kaeru no ko wa kaeru.

A little girl, no more than four or five years of age, dressed in a soft pink kimono with waves, flowers and dragonfly motifs on them and almost pale as her mistress even without the makeup. A bit on the young side for a _kamuro,_ Jiraiya thought as he watched the girl. She looked eerily like a little doll if not…. for her coloring. His train of thought screeched to a halt as his brain registered what his eyes were seeing and what it implied. He had only just been about to greet the girl when the colour of her hair stooped him short.

It was as white as snow - just like his own. At the outer corners of her eyes were small red markings – _almost identical to his own ignoring its placement._ One moment there was entirely quiet in his head. Static. No thoughts, nothing, no one’s home, try again tomorrow. The next moment, every alarm bell was blaring. No, no, nononono. Turning back to Komurasaki, he demanded wordlessly for an explanation, satisfaction at having successfully pranked him, but he received neither.

"She isn't?" he asked in a choked-up voice, letting the word _mine_ linger in the air between them. Sage, what would Tsunade-hime think? Worse, what would she do? The snake bastard would laugh. Sakumo would laugh and say he had it coming - though if not for her markings, she could have passed for a Hatake daughter as well. Hiruzen-sensei….would look at him all disappointed, he just knew it...

Chikage had arranged herself at her mother's side like a good _kamuro_ would and Komurasaki pet the top of the little girl's hair affectionately. The life-and-death encounter had brought them closer, her little _musume_ were much more physically affectionate, though a bit more subdued than before. Curling into a ball, the little girl rested her head upon her mother's lap, saying not a single word, but obviously paying attention to their exchange.

The courtesan ignored the question, thinking the answer obvious. Who else had his colouring? "This one never intended to bother or burden my lord, which is why my lord recieved no notice of her birth." The young woman explained apologetic, petting the snow-white hair of her little girl, ink for once washed out entirely to provide proof. "This one carried her, brought her into this world and raised her for the first three years of her life in secret.” She looked a bit proud of that. “initally there was a scheme to make her kamuro and when she turned ten, this one would have requested an escort to Konohagakure to foster before she was to continue her schooling at an academy in Keishi.” Komurasaki sighed heavily. "She would have been free, safe and this one would have had her close for as long as was possible. That is no longer an option. "

Jiraiya stared at the child. Stunned, unbelieving. He was a father. He who had been so careful had slipped up and gotten a courtesan pregnant…and he had no idea for four whole years…. The sheer size of this blunder was rapidly becoming more horrifying. Taking a deep breath, the shinobi poured himself some sake and downed it all in one go before pouring some more. "What has changed?” He asked with numb lips, knowing she was being upfront and honest. He could taste the honesty on his tongue and knew she must have reached out to him as a last resort. 

Nudging the little girl into a seated position, Komurasaki gently urged her. "Hina-hime, please inform Jiraiya-sama of the events of that night." The child looked at the man as if she weren’t entirely sure what to do with him or how to react. The shock of his presence had yet to settle. A Legendary Sannin! Jiraiya the Toad Sage! From an anime, she had watched in her former life! She had thought she was in a _normal_ world – only significantly further back than she had originally been born….A moment of silence as she viciously shoved down the mounting panic-attack and promised herself a proper freak out later.

The girl child glanced from Jiraiya to her mother's face before mumbling quietly, her voice soft and melodious. “this one was napping in the room when the noise awoke me.” She started, hesitating for a bit and picking her words carefully. Her vocab was still limited. “The man-…”

Komurasaki interjected his name and rank softly “Bizen-no-kami.” A second passed before she corrected herself. “Bizen, the title of -no-kami was stripped from him as consequence for assaulting an innocent citizen. He was a governor of a sort, this one recalls.”

“Bizen yelled offensive words, slapped and shoved onee-sama to the ground. He sat atop her and…” for a second she seemed to search for a word but came up empty. She mimed the action instead by placing her hands on her throat. “I know not the word?” Chikage asked frowning, a bit frustrated. “Strangle. To strangle, strangling, strangled.” Her mother replied, giving examples of tenses as well, clearly used to that kind of exchange. “He was strangling her. This one attacked him, and tried my utmost to hurt him with the _bira-bira_ kanzashi, however merely managed to scratch him. Then...this one fell?”

“…He straightened up, grabbed hold of your kimono and threw you.” Komurakami corrected…eyes blank as she relived the traumatic moment. “Un.” Chikage assented quietly, not at all resentful of the interjection and began fiddling with her kimono. “It hurt, but then onee-sama hit him with the teapot. He quieted for a moment.”

Swallowing thickly, stomach once again roiling as she recalled the stench that had permeated the room. “I grabbed his..” realizing she didn’t know what kind of weapon it was, she guessed: “short sword?” At her mother’s nod, she continued. “He wished to retaliate, charged toward this one and the sword pierced his stomach. His insides came out and fell on the floor. Then this one got sick.”

Komurasaki looked anguished at the retelling and while it looked like she was soothing Chikage as she pet her back, it was more self-soothing than anything. A bit puzzled by the weird mix of childish and adult wording, but more than capable of understanding her meaning, Jiraiya expressed his sympathies:” That must have been very frightening.”A small sound of assent was the only response he got, and then a good two minutes of silence as everyone ruminated and got caught up in their own thoughts. The young woman reliving the awful evening, the child frustrated by how difficult a language Japanese was, and the shinobi noting Chikage’s lack moral struggle. She had shown no signs of remorse or guilt like many others would have. She might not have intended to kill him, but she didn’t seem to regret that he was dead.

“Ano..” The child dragged out the sound, drawing attention to herself, she added:” He threatened to make me a yuujo too.” Komurasaki blinked several times, rapidly as if she couldn’t believe her own ears. “Pardon?” She asked, unsure of whether her ears were deceiving her. She didn’t recall that, but also new she’d passed out for a moment after he’d throttled her. “He might be _one of them_.”

Jiraiya was revolted and furious at the actions of that Bizen, however he had remained silent and unobtrusive throughout the retelling, letting it play its course without disturbing the victims too much. Now it seemed, he had to prompt her as the courtesan at his side was struck dumb and too horrified. “One of them?” He repeated with a questioning tone.

Chikage looked like she regretted what she had said. "Those men that Hatsune-nee talked about. Those who look covetously at the _kamuro_ like men look at Onee-sama. The men that like children." The child elaborated quietly, raising her shoulders up to her ears and screwing shut her eyes. “Hatsune-nee was unwilling to explain, but I convinced her it was better to be aware of threats.” Sinking into a bow, she apologized to her mother. “This one did not think to mention it and Hatsune-nee folds like cotton whenever this one asks anything of her.”

The sake cup had crumbled in his hand at the mention of pedophiles. Jiraiya had to keep himself from sneering as he dried the blood off his fingers with an embroidered kerchief that Komurasaki-chan had been quick to hand him. The _shinobi_ profession was an ugly and harsh world. Monsters may be masquerading as humans anscum of the earth and no one worth their hitaite would require payment to introduce men like that to the sharp end of a kunai.

The child glanced at him and then to her mother, looking as if she wondered whether it was a good idea to ask or not. The two adults waited for her to speak and she gnawed at her bottom lip, eliciting a gentle nudge and a look of disapproval at her lack of composure. Training never ended it seemed. “This one does not feel saddened or upset in regard to Bizen's passing. There is not an ounce of regret that he has died and were there to be a second time, this one would not act differently…is that not sinful and inhumane of me?” She finally managed to ask, feeling small and silly for asking. She felt more guilt about not being bothered about killing another person than she did about the actual killing.

Jiraiya hesitated for a moment, feeling truly sorry for this child who had already had her first kill: before having even celebrated her seventh year: before having participated in the second part of the shichi-go-san festival. She had done it with none of the training, preparation, or desensitization a child from a shinobi household would have received. Then he sighed and reached over the low table to pat the girl's pale hair. "You did well, kid.” He praised her gruffly. “You protected your mother and yourself and that’s all that matters. The bastard deserved it and you can feel any way you need to about it.” He assured her in his low baritone voice, distantly marveling at how soft and pleasant her hair was in comparison to his coarse and bristly excuse for hair.

Chikage seemed to relax at this assurance from him and she looked to her mother for confirmation. Her opinion was the one that truly mattered. Komurasaki nodded, indicating her agreement with his words and it seemed as if anxiety just drained out Chikage’s little body and she dropped her perfect posture out of sheer relief. The courtesan found his words very reasonable – it was a practical outlook, and it served her needs. There was no reason for her daughter to feel guilty for defending herself or others and she was pleased that he bothered – and that he had the sense – to reassure her little girl.

Exhausted, the girl child retook her former position and placed her head on her mother’s lap, rubbing her face against the soft silks and sighing deeply, taking in the familiar scent of cleanliness and flowers.

When Chikage started drifting off to sleep but a moment later on her mother's lap, Komurasaki sighed as well. The worst of it was over and done with. “The others have grown frightened of her – and not simply the children.” A short pause. “It infuriates this one to see her snubbed and avoided for saving our lives. She did a good thing, a brave thing and for the petty reason that she did not react as they wanted or expected her to, they are now fearful and think her ominous. It is ignorant and unreasonable.”

A new cup of sake in hand, he sipped it with a hum – agreeing with her judgement. It was unfair to blame the victim indeed. “So how come you want to send her to Konoha?” He wondered out loud, rather sure she didn’t want the shinobi profession for her child. “Safety.” She replied promptly. “Shinobi of Iwagakure were seen in the district and reportedly inquired about her. This one have heard nothing promising or assuring about their village or their treatment of shinobi – they’ll whisk her away and turn her into cannonfodder.”

 _So will Konoha._ A voice in his head whispered darkly, sounding suspiciously like the snake-bastard. He could hardly tell the voice to shut up when it wasn’t wrong. He leaned forward, frowning and eyebrows strangely heavy as he pondered. He could possibly shield her from that fate _if_ he were around to keep her safe, but he knew the only reason he’d been allowed this trip was because the money was good. They were always either recovering or gearing for war – easy money was received most gratefully. A few short months after the end of the Second War, not even fully healed yet but they needed his information. He couldn’t be around all the time, when the war had just ended and it felt like another was already in the works. He had a spy network to keep track off and an apprentice to train too. His information was too invaluable to give up, there were too many demands on his time.

Glancing at the sleeping toddler, he added mentally, _and she’s too young and cute to sacrifice for nothing._ “I have no expectations of my lord to cease working to become a full-time father, Jiraiya-sama.” The courtesan assured him. “This one simply wishes someone to be there, to love her and make sure she has the opportunity to live. Konoha is the best option.” 

That had been Jiraiya's interpretation as well and he rubbed his calloused hand over his face in agitation. The prospect of becoming a father was not one he had ever really wanted. Not with anyone but Tsunade-hime, at least. Certainly not now while the old men were fanning the flames of war again, mere months after the last one had ended, and he did not have the time to foster or raise a child. Even if she was darned cute.

Yet, the child was without a doubt his. He could not leave her here, that much was true. Iwa would never be allowed to put a single dirty finger on his child. He pitied her for having to leave behind all she knew and loved because of ignorance. Nodding slowly, the shinobi voiced his thoughts. "I will take her to Konohagakure." He promised, sounding just as exhausted as Komurasaki had just moments before. Glancing at her sharply at the courtesan's relieved look, he added. "I can't promise to always be there. The Second War ended a scant few months ago and it’s still…” not certain whether or not a third will start, but he doesn't say that.

Looking at Chikage's sleeping face fondly, her relief bittersweet as she knew that while her child would be well-taken care of and safe, she would probably never get to hug her daughter's tiny form against her chest again. "This one is grateful. There was en expectation of immediate refusal. As long as my lord is certain that she is with responsible and loving guardians, this one would be satisfied."

Rising unto his feet as the time he had paid for was starting to run out, Jiraiya headed toward the door, intending to give mother and child time to say goodbye. "I´ll return in a few hours and take her with me, then." The Sannin promised before he slid open the slide screen door and left the Ōgiya, feeling overwhelmed and sad. Sad that he would be unable to devote his time to raising her, anxious for her safety now he knew Iwa-bastards were sniffing around and… still shocked to have all of sudden become a father but strangely not that displeased now that the news were sinking in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: a child of a frog is a frog implying something along the lines of like father, like son.
> 
> additionally quick question before i fall over, dead to the world after writing 12k words within 24 hours. would anyone like a pinterest for reference and inspiration photos? I do a lot studying and looking at pictures for inspiration, so it wouldn't be an issue if anyone wants it. I can also add the picrews i've made of Chikage. 
> 
> commentors on ff.net have shown some doubt about where we are in the timeline. Its a bit iffy, but we're about year 56 after the founding of Konoha. It's been about three years since 2nd war started. It's literally just ended. The Sannin are thirty, Kakashi is five, Chikage is four....and Minato is 14! Sakumo is ~37 and not dead yet!
> 
> a link to the pinterest for the story: https://www.pinterest.dk/Bingung_mama/insp-akasenko/
> 
> and just a tiny heads up, the next two chapters are technically written but need revision before i can post it and i've got a 20 page exam to write with a due date the 18th. I probably won't update until then - sorry about the wait :((
> 
> edited for language: oiran were taught to speak courtly language - think shakespeare - and this has influenced chikage as well since that's primarily what she's been listening to. I'm not going to attempt actual shakespearean english and i'm just upping the formality.


	8. au nowa wakari no hajimari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title means 'to meet is the beginning of parting' this expresses a sentiment and the Buddhist idea about the transience of all things.
> 
> can't focus on my exam, so here i am posting a chapter for you guys instead.

After the jounin left, Komurasaki sat in silence for a few minutes, turning her gaze to watch the face of her sleeping daughter. Sorrow and relief warred within her as her eyes traced the little frown on the girl's forehead, the slope of the cute button nose and those pink lips, bruised from Chikage worrying them – a bad habit that the courtesan had done her best to discourage. However, since the incident, it had been hard to tell the child off for doing whatever soothed her feelings of anxiousness. Several long moments passed with her simply memorizing the face of her child, committing it to her memory with a reverence that was almost religious in nature - knowing that this could likely be the last time she laid eyes on her. Sighing heavily, Komurasaki murmured apologies to the sleeping child. She apologized for her lot in life, for bringing her into this world without the capabilities to protect her and guide her like she deserved.

Calling softly for Kôcho and Hatsune, the courtesan issued an almost silent order for the first to start packing Chikage's belongings, the latter to bring her combs and the finest of Chikage's kimono. Dressing her up like the daughter of a noble would provide a believable cover. There was no reason for Jiraiya to be carting a child around, it would seem rather suspicious. A jounin doing something as simple as an escort mission would only be credible if the child was the offspring of someone important.

The white-haired sannin was much too valuable to be sent out carelessly, but if a particularly finicky daimyo had demanded that much and obviously paid the hefty fee, then it would not be entirely unbelievable. Or at least that was the explanation Komurasaki gave herself, although she mostly just wished to use the opportunity to pamper her precious daughter for the last time.

The sleeping toddler was gently woken, and she sat obediently still as her mother ran the elaborate comb through her long hair. Hatsune put away most of her kimono into clothing chests, and brought over Chikage's finest kosode, one that had commissioned early in spring using Hatsune and Kôcho as go-betweens and a matching pair of hakama. Hatsune quickly left again, hurrying down to the kitchens only to return carrying some strange smelling black dye they used to disguise her hair.

Chikage shrugged out of her kimono and sat practically naked on the floor as the concoction was slathered into her hair.

”I wish I had other options.” The courtesan murmured as she evaluated the kanzashi she was drawing out of her jewelry box, speaking more casually in her last hours with her daughter as she did not wish to distance herself with formality. “However, your father is a decent man. I have faith that he will honor his words.” Komurasaki had to have faith – the prospect of her daughter left to fend for herself in a village so far from her was too awful to contemplate. Glancing up she pursed her lips, suddenly realizing “…It is unlikely that he has the time or the patience to escort her in a carriage..” She hummed thoughtfully. “Hatsune, put aside the most important things and place them in one of the _kinchaku_ bags…They will probably travel on foot, so keep it light.”

Chikage remained silent, pale, and wide-eyed as the reality she had grown to accept fell apart in front of her. She had not traveled back in time as she had assumed; instead, she had transmigrated into a fictional storyline that she had only haphazardly bothered to keep up with. The assurance of relative safe and security turned to smoke in her hands and panic burned in her stomach as the breakdown she had managed to suppress earlier came knocking, demanding to let free.

The toddler-sized woman barely noticed the words of her mother or the busy girls pacing back-and-forth as they packed her things away in boxes and bags. The relatively normal life she had been envisioning was out of reach now.

Jiraiya had said it himself – a war had just ended and there was no way she would be allowed to remain civilian. Another one would follow soon – _how many years had passed between the second and third shinobi war?_ She had no idea. There was so much she did not know.

The war machine demanded fodder. Kakashi and Itachi were prime examples of the blind greed of the village. Their lives had been offered up on the altar of war before they had even begun to lose their milk teeth. They had been clan children as well – so their lives were valued above others and yet even they had not been spared, so how could she hope to be?

Even if she could convince her father…goodness _,_ her _father…._ to allow her to refuse to attend the academy, there was no way for her to survive being the civilian daughter of a Sannin. He was too eye-catching and important, no one would have any scruples using her against him because _ninja_.

A million thoughts filled her head, a cacophony of worries and doubts. One thing was certain. She was going to die. She was too weak, too young, too _soft_ , and idealistic to survive in a world where child-soldiers were a fact of life. The daughter of a member of the _Sannin,_ she would be inexplicably tangled with other important characters. Lynchpin characters whose lives and plots were too big and complicated for her to truly fathom. Her eyes ached with unshed tears as the fear for her life started to sink in. She was just…some no-name average student on her way to living a calm comfortable life and now…all there was to look forward to…was death. Several wars, a massacre and mission work if she managed to get that far…

She could not change anything, Chikage was sure of that as well. Attempting to do so would only set her up for disappointment. She would not even try, she decided quietly to herself. None of them had anything to do with her. None of them were even _real,_ why should they matter to her? 

The not-toddler was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of her mother’s voice. "You should act like a _hime_ when others are around. Pretend to be the daughter of men like the patrons.” Komurasaki spoke brusquely, quiet but intense and expecting to be heeded. The courtesan had seen the unshed tears and did not quite know how to handle it. If her daughter started crying, she would too and who knew when she would be able to stop.

Kôcho patted Chikage’s head and informed them the dye had set. It was quickly washed out and a towel was produced to dry it. Hair now mostly dry and no longer at risk of staining anything, they began to dress her. Kôcho helped her up onto her feet and she stood there, feeling not unlike a newborn foal with how weak and unstable her legs had become all of a sudden. The white cotton nagajuban she was wearing had been washed the day before, so there was no need to change it and they simply folded it up, so it reached a bit under her knees for ease of movement. The folded fabric was secured with a simple pink _datejime_ tied around her waist at the front.

She was then gently helped into a gorgeous red kosode; decorated with patterns of temari, wisteria as well as plum blossoms. It looked fit for a princess. It was lifted and worn higher than usual, so the hem only just reached below that of the nagajuban – this was secured with a tie just above her bellybutton. A soft pink _hanhaba_ obi with butterflies on it was wrapped around her waist. Lastly, she stepped into a pair of dark blue hakama which were placed over the obi, allowing for an inch or so of it to be visible, then fastened and tied with a bow on the front. Hair having finally dried, it was carefully brushed with Komurasaki's fine tortoiseshell comb and placed in the _chigomage_ style that was common for daughters of nobles . It was done by making two chignons and tying them together on top of her head. A flower kanzashi and two silver _bira-bira_ kanzashi belonging to the courtesan was added as well.

Komurasaki got up and moved across the room, kneeling down to look her over, just to make sure every knot was tied properly and everything straight. Satisfied, she nodded and was just about to get to up when - “Please don’t send me away.” The toddler pleaded, lips trembling and head aching, _knowing_ it was a useless effort but still compelled to try. “I want to stay with you, _hahaue_.” 

The child’s voice was wobbly and thick with emotion as she grasped onto her mother’s sleeves and called the woman by her rightful title for the first time since she had learned to speak. The courtesan had stilled at the sound of her voice and flinched at being referred to as her mother – she had grown quite used to be being aneue or onee-sama. Heart in her throat, the young woman sat down and pulled Chikage into her lap, arms wrapped around her tightly and rocking side-to-side, composure lost and tears building in the corner of her eyes. “I’m sorry!” Komurasaki cried regretfully and anguished, pressing kisses to her temple. “I don’t want to let you go, but it - “her voice broke “- but it’s out of my hands.”

Clinging to the warm and affectionate older woman, the toddler continued to plead, crying in earnest as the tears of the other had triggered her own:” I am not bothered about the others being afraid of me, I wish to stay with you!” She sobbed, halting and hiccupping in between words. The courtesan said no more as she continued to cry and rock them back-and-forth.

Hatsune and Kôcho were in the corner – they too had started crying and were hugging each other. Seeing their ever-poised mistress lose her composure, and the baby they had helped raise so distraught and knowing they would be unlikely to meet again had been too much. 

Several minutes passed where all that could be heard in the room were the sad voices of children crying, hiccupping, and sniffling quietly. Komurasaki had grown quiet, though. Regaining some composure, she used the edge of her sleeve to dab delicately at her eyes.

Finally, she spoke. “I’m leaving this place as well and none of you can follow.”


	9. isseki no chou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: literally, two birds, one stone. Meaning to kill two birds with one stone  
> oh wow, oops here's another one.

“A patron has offered to pay my debt in full.” Komurasaki murmured, throat still tight with emotion. The letter hidden in the hanging scroll had been the application and the expensive painting a token of appreciation. Flattered at such high regard, she had accepted his token and application. She had even written him a letter herself to express gratitude for the gift and express her genuine interest in him. their first meeting was scheduled but a few days later. “The second meeting is set to take place within the week.” Hatsune gasped and clasped her hands, elated and Kôcho looked silly – so surprised her mouth had simply dropped open. They knew what such an offer meant and entailed.

Her return letter had led to the exchange of many others and Komurasaki found herself growing rather fond of her newest patron. Those fond feelings were mutual, even more intensely so on the side of the patrons’ and he had been eager to invite her to join his household. They had exchanged letters for four years and real aggection had grown between them. He could not promise her the status of wife, but as an honored concubine of an important man, she would be set for life. The patron had effectively given her something she had dreamed of since she was eight years old – a way out of the Shimabara with its bladed walls and never-ending stream of customers. Komurasaki was exceptional at her profession, that much was true, but she despised it with every fiber of her being. The customers, the sellers and the whole industry made her sick. She was meat to be bought and sold, a prisoner in a gilded cage and with a debt the size of hers – she would never be able to leave without a patron buying her out.

Until that debt was paid, she was naught but an indentured slave. Albeit one dressed in finery worthy of the imperial court. Her newest patron had offered her freedom and she had grasped it like the drowning man would a lifeline. None of the girls would be able to follow her – she would be starting a new life and no remnant of the Shimabara could or would be brought with her. Her name would once again be changing.

“What does that mean?” Chikage asked after a moment of silence, frowning a bit. She could guess that it was a good thing from the reaction of the two kamuro, but what exactly it entailed and why she could not follow eluded her.

The courtesan gazed out of the window they were sitting by; leaning over, she slung an arm over the windowsill carelessly and watched the people on the street milling by for a bit. A long time passed and Chikage was just about to repeat her question, wondering if she hadn't been heard. "I will leave this horrid place and wed someone." Komurasaki finally replied, looking like her mind was a thousand miles away. Chikage’s eyes widened and a small surprised “eh?” slipped past her lips. Komurasaki turned her gaze onto them, seemingly startled back to reality. "It is a good offer, and I am growing older." The oiran explained, amused at the looks on their faces even as guilt gnawed at her insides. "I never liked this life." She intoned, meeting the gaze of her toddler, and willing her to understand.

Hatsune and Kôcho looked utterly confused at the news, something that did not go unnoticed by the courtesan. She muttered soft assurances and reached over to pat Hatsune on the head, promiseing: "Worry not, girls. The cost of sponsoring you and the issue of your contracts will be handled.”

Hatsune burst into tears, small pale hands covering her face. Chikage was horrified to see her usually tough older sister cry and looked to her mother with a bewildered look on her face. Komurasaki seemed just as bewildered as her daughter and turned to Kôcho for an explanation. The older of the two _kamuro_ looked uncomfortable at being put in the spot, and seemed hesitant to answer, but seemingly managed to gather the courage to speak. " - She is crying because we do not wish to leave your side, Aneue." Kôcho mumbled, looking down at her hands as she continued:" We have no family to speak off and you are all we have. You have been both parent and teacher to us, so while we should be happy for you…" The girl trailed off, looking somewhat ashamed and vulnerable.

The courtesan pursed her lips and looked from one girl to the other, seemingly contemplating how to respond to that. Grateful for the devotion and yet sad to have to leave them.

"Why can’t you take them with you?” The youngest of the four asked, slowly disentangling from the arms of her mother as the heat started getting to her. So much fabric! Too hot!

"Hatsune-nee, Kôcho-nee and I should go with you…” She mumbled as she slid from her mother’s lap onto the floor, exhausted by the emotional outburst, and crying uncontrollably as she had done earlier. Staying with her mother would keep her well away from the plotline and any important characters. It would be the much safer way for her – even if she would have to act the part of servant to keep up the charade. The life of a civilian handmaid to the wife of a noble was endlessly preferable to that of the life of a shinobi.

Komurasaki sighed and shook her head. “It would be an insult.” The courtesan rejected gently before explaining. ”It is against protocol to bring anything from this life with me as I begin the next one.” Her eyes flickered to her two kamuro, then to her daughter and at last landed on the packed up boxes and an idea slowly took form. “Do either of you wish to become yujo?” She asked Kôcho, who was holding Hatsune’s hand and still comforting the crying girl.

Both girls shook their head vigorously and the courtesan nodded, unsurprised at the answer. “If that is so…-” She hummed thoughtfully, drawing out the words as she reached out to fiddle absentmindedly with the _bira-bira_ kanzashi in her daughter’s hair under guise of setting it right.” then, how about I buy your contracts from the teahouse and send you to Konohagakure in the carriage along with the rest of Chikage’s belongings?” 

“Oh, please do, aneue!” Kôcho was the first to speak and so eager she had lurched forward to grab the robes of her mistress and mother-figure. “I don’t want this life. We’re too old to start training to be shinobi, but there would certainly be a need for maids or…” She stopped speaking, almost frantic as she tried to think of other professions they could join instead. “- practitioners of tea ceremony or attendants to assist with dressing in kimono.” Hatsune piped up, just as eager to escape the bleak future of the life they had been sold into. 

“You would probably be signed up for the civilian schools.” Komurasaki could only smile at the hopeful look on their faces and she felt less guilty, less like she was abandoning them. “I will write a letter of recommendation for each of you.” She promised solemnly and began to wonder whom she should write to, so that she could find them foster families as well. Perhaps Jiraiya-sama would have a suggestion?

The courtesan found herself being hugged by one girl and had another sobbing her gratitude on her lap and glanced at Chikage who seemed to have drifted off into her own thoughts again. The memories of what was to come played vaguely in her mind. The years before shippuden were hazy and it was only the highlights that stood out to her. Jiraiya had looked young still, so most of her knowledge would probably be useless for quite a few years yet.

Even if she did act on that incomplete and frankly pitiful amount of knowledge, it would be to protect herself. _Don’t get attached to anyone_ , she admonished herself sternly. _None of them are real._ All she had to do was stick to the plot and she would have a somewhat predictable timeline to follow.

Dying senselessly in a war dreamed up by old, power-hungry men was decidedly _not_ on her bucket list, but living a civilian life wouldn't guarantee her survival…it might even _lessen_ her chances, since shinobi at least had a fighting chance. In any case, there was nothing she could do. Whether Chikage liked it or not, the choice had been made for her already. Her mother had decided, and since there was no way she could run away and survive on her own, Chikage would simply have to accept her fate.

The two hours had passed by then and it took an additional half hour to calm down the kamuro, who were very excited at the prospect of escaping the fate of a prostitute which Chikage thought was more than understandable. After the girls stopped crying out of sheer happiness, they helped pack away the last of her things, including all of her kimono, her toys and even a lot of Komurasaki’s jewelry. “I won’t be able to bring it with me, so I might as well give it to you.” The courtesan had said as she carelessly handed over the box to be placed with the rest of the items.

They ate a meal together, all four of them and as the time drew short, the tension in the room got heavier. All of them looked on the verge of tears again and Chikage sat between her two older sisters, alternately hugging either of them as the impulse hit her. _Neither of them are real_ , a voice kept saying on the back of her head, yet it didn’t seem to matter. Hatsune and Kôcho had gifted her their _otedama_ bags. They were the tiny bean bags used the juggling game that the three girls had spent countless hours playing. The youngest girl knew how the two _kamuro_ treasured them, so she cried at their thoughtful gifts.

A comb, snacks wrapped in oiled paper, some coin was all that there was space for in the bag. No matter how much she wanted to bring her scrolls and books, there was no way to fit all of them into a bag that she could carry. She would have to wait for them to be brought by the carriage the two older girls would travel by – a trip she was informed would take a month and half by civilian means of travel. She asked how long it would take by shinobi ways of travel, but Komurasaki reasonably had no idea either. 

Chikage had gravitated to her mother's side, and lay with her head in her mother's lap, listening to Komurasaki retelling the story of _Urashima Taro_ when Jiraiya returned. He appeared out of the blue, sitting perched on the railing of the window and they all startled when he made himself known by giving an awkward cough, none of them had realized he was there. This time he was sneaking in, of course, since taking away someone belonging to the teahouse was against the law. She hugged her tiny family goodbye, holding onto her mother a little bit fiercer than the other two and then still kneeling on the floor, she bowed deeply. "Thank you for raising me until now." The child said in a think voice, looking quite like someone walking to their death.

Jiraiya looked upon the sad scene from his spot by the window and sighed heavily, feeling like he had seen to many heartbroken scenes in his life already. He was thankful that they had dyed her hair, because now he would not have to. Him carting around a little one, practically a miniature version of him albeit prettier, would have attracted way too much attention. No need to paint a target on the girl's back before she ever even had a chance to learn how to fight.

"You ready to go, kiddo?" He asked finally as Komurasaki and the two crying _kamuro_ released her from their embrace. The little girl was pale and pitiful despite the lavish outfit but nodded her assent. A dark blue cape was draped over her shoulders and the bag was tied around her small wrist. Kisses were placed on her forehead and then she stood before him, ready. He scooped up the toddler like she weighed nothing at all and jumped out the window, landing effortlessly onto the roof of the building across from the tea house.

It was a few hours before dawn, but the added anonymity of traveling by the roof and under the cover of night, when in a large city was always helpful. He gazed down at the little girl in his arms - his daughter, by the Sage, he was never getting used to that – and found her studying his face. He coughed awkwardly again, startled at her blatant curiosity. "You might as well sleep, we've got a long trip in front of us. " The Sannin murmured brusquely and took off across the roofs, setting the course for Konohagakure and taking no notice at all of the blades on the walls used to keep the inhabitants of the Shimabara district in as they left the city.


	10. hito wa shippai kara manabu.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title: people learn from their mistakes  
> this took a bit, because my laptop died. my cat overturned soda on it and yeah, it's well and truly dead. Had to buy a new one .-.

They ran for hours as the dawn broke and spilled shades of lavender, oranges and pinks onto the sky, bleeding through wispy clouds. The Land of Earth consisted mostly of barren steppes and rocky areas. Incredibly few forests and next to no wildlife that one could see with the bare eye. Not that Chikage noticed any of this. It passed by her eyes in a blur and seemed more like something out of a dream than a reality that she could reach out and touch if her ride slowed down and put her on her own two feet.

None of it felt real, not even her own body or the man whose arms she was nestled in. At some point she must have drifted off into sleep, because she was gently woken by the sound of the jounin’s voice, though she did not register the words or the meaning, Blinking blearily as she returned to the land of the living, she stared emptily up at his face for a moment. Not quite registering that it hadn’t all been a dream and for a long moment, the toddler was very confused about where she was. Glancing around reminded her of the events that had transpired the ..night before? Her sense of time felt very off and she wondered idly how long they had been running. Lifting her head, Chikage squinted up at the sun and noted that it was high in the sky.. so..sometime after noon?

”You finally awake, kid?” Jiraiya asked rhetorically, a small grin on his face. He sat her down and she wobbled a bit before finding her balance on the rocky ground. ”Un….?” She replied a moment later, the sound more a question than an answer. She was more than just a bit unsure whether it was true or not. The not-toddler realized that there was tiny patch of drool on his chest slighty below where her head had been. A distanced awareness that she should feel some embarrassment at having drooled on someone niggled in the back of her head, but the emotion itself didn’t deign to show up.

The jounin asked another question she didn’t quite register, consumed as she was with doubting reality and feeling oddly detached from her body. She only looked at him when he reached over to nudge her shoulder. Now he was looking a bit worried at her absentmindedness and the empty look on her face, though. ”Pardon?”

”I asked if you needed the bathroom..?” He repeated the earlier question and Chikage pursed her lips, unsure. Glancing down at the body that didn’t feel like it was hers, she didn’t notice any such physical need and shook her head. ”Go try anyway.” He murmured feeling a bit weirded out but deciding to write it off as the fogginess of sleep. Adults and kids alike could act weird coming out of sleep cycles and he had no idea of her habits or how she usually acted right after waking.

If he had any familiarity with the toddler at all, he would have been more worried, since such vacant behaviour was rather out of character for her. The usual Chikage woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to play, read or weedle cuddletime out of the nearest willing and warm person. More often than not the toddler had crawled into other people’s futons and burrowed into them like a tiny heatseeking kitten. Had her elder sisters or mother seen her like so, they would’ve quite probably been worried out of their mind. But the only one present to witness her disassociated state was Jiraiya – who was rather oblivious when it came to emotional or mental states. He had teammates who handled that better than him. Of course he was a solid judge of character and typically rather quick on the uptake, but it wasn’t as if he’d spent much time around kids after he himself had stopped being one. So while he registered her behaviour as a bit odd, it didn’t raise any red flags for him, as it probably should have.

She stood for a bit, floundering as if she had forgotten how to operate her own body. It took more mental effort than the toddler would ever admit to walk behind some bushes and undo her knots with fumbly fingers. Distantly amused that he had just assumed she could handle it by herself, she got her business done and found that she did indeed need to pee – but the need hadn’t registered until she was trying. Disassociation…and what was it called, derealisation? Whatever it was, it was incredibly weird to be so disconnected from one’s body that nothing felt real, not even yourself.

Chikage had managed to untie all her knots, but realised with some chagrin that she would need assistance in tying them again. Returning from behind the bushes, she stood for a bit, awkwardly holding up her hakama. ”Ano..” She started, drawing out the word in her hesitation. The jounin looked up from the three fish he was roasting over a small, quickly built fire and pressed his twitching lips together to refrain from laughing at the little girl, looking decidedly uncomfortable and displeased with having to ask at all. She looked like a puffed up squirrel, her cheeks rounded with how she was unintentionally pouting.

He managed to keep his amusement to himself, feeling rather confident he would mortally offend her pride if she caught on to it. He made quick work of the knots, surprising her with how competent he was at tying hakama. He did it even more efficiently than Hatsune and Kôcho had done when they had dressed her – granted they were more used to arranging layers of kimono instead of dressing others in hakama.

She murmured a rather formal thank you and drew nearer to the fire, where what she supposed was their dinner was cooking. They sat in silence for a good while: the jounin turning over the fish and the toddler watching the flames absentmindedly until she broke the silence by asking;”How long did this one sleep?”

A small puzzled frown was on her face and she tilted her head, ”..and how long will this trip be?” She continued, following up her first question rather promptly instead of waiting for a reply.

The Toad Sannin hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with a free hand. ”You didn’t sleep for the first two hours, so I’d say you got a nice five-to-six hours of sleep.” Onyx eyes widened at the reply, lips falling open to a small ’o’ and her eyebrows raised in a clear expression of shock. They had been traveling for at least eight hours and he didn’t seem fatigued in the slightest? Even though he had been carrying her the whole way?

The jounin whose behaviour was very different to the character she’d expected – he seemed a lot more reliable and serious, almost subdued in how he was acting around her – huffed with amusement at her honest expressions. ”Any average shinobi could travel from the capital of Earth Country to Konohagakure in about sixty hours of running with no breaks.” He replied straightforwardly, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke. ”Jounin are the highest rank of shinobi and are capable of traveling at a speed considerably higher than that of the lower ranks, not to mention civilians.” Seeing her nod thoughtfully, obviously digesting the new information, he continued:” We will probably arrive in about two days if all goes well – forty or so hours of running.”

”Does carrying this one inhibit the speed at which your honored self travel?” The toddler followed up, bafflingly formal and well-spoken for someone that young. Her way of speaking would have reminded him of Orochimaru, except she spoke even more formally and in that distinct singing way of the nobility.

He blinked at her, taken aback at the formality and quite sure no child had ever referred to him as an honored person before. ”Ah….you can speak casually to me, kid.” He assured her, wondering why in the world she would speak so formally to him. ”No one talks that formally outside the courts, y’know? Not even sen- the Hokage speaks that formally..”

Chikage frowned confused. Was there an issue with her speech? She had grown up listening to primarily formal speech, true enough and even among her elder sisters had there been a certain level of formality – they would drop the use of ’this one’ and use ’i’ and names instead of titles, but the wording and grammar was much the same.

She recognized that he spoke very informally and casually, but had assumed it was a personality quirk of a sort or maybe due to the difference in dialect, but if not even the Hokage – who was a military dictator and consorted with the most noble of the citizens in the village spoke as formally as she was used to? Odd. Would she stand out a lot because of it then?

It took a bit as she had to think about how to rephrase it in a more casual way, without also being insulting or too familiar. ”..Does my weight not slow you down?” She repeated her question, the last few words lilting upwards in a questioning and unsure tone. Was that what he meant? Was it casual enough?

Taking the fish out of the fire, he blew on them – waiting a bit to hand the toddler her fish just to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally burn herself. He glanced at her and grinned crookedly, she was still sounding like a court lady but at least someone he was friendly with and no longer someone attempting to distance themselves from him by being excessively polite. ”You weigh less than a bag of rice, kiddo.” He grinned, shaking his head a bit at the preposterous idea that someone that small would slow him down,

Finally recieving her fish, she blew on it herself as she observed her new father critically out of the corner of her eye. The difference between how he had acted in the series and the way he was acting with her was jarring and too big to be brushed off. How much of that lecherous reputation and perverted idiocy was exaggerated and how much was his actual personality? No actual idiot would have lived as long as he had nor grown as strong, that much was clear to anyone with a lick of common sense. Even if she had no real comprehension of how string he was, the title of _Sannin_ and being legendary was enough of a hint.

Delicately eating the fish and trying her best not to make a mess despite eating with her hands for the first time since she was taught how to hold chopsticks, she felt no embarrassment at her question nor her ignorance. She had come into this world ignorant of most things, so she simply worked to rectify that ignorance and she could only do that by asking or reading. It was almost a given that most of shinobi culture could only be taught like that – she highly doubted anyone had been kind enough or had the time to write a book on their eitquette or their way of life. It would have been rather counter productive as well, since shinobi were notoriously secretive.

She quizzed him – politely and sedately – throughout their meal on things like where he lived. _The jounin barracks_. Whether he had family _. Only his team and his apprentice_. When he had graduated and become shinobi. _Age 7._ What his favourite food was. _Garlic pickled with perilla and karaage chicken._ Before she wanted to gorge herself on any and all information she could find on Konohagakure and the main characters she would be associating in the future.

The mere thought of the future made her stomach turn, so she tried decidedly to not think about it.

In return, Jiraiya asked her about the things she liked best as well. Hobbies? _Reading, practicing calligraphy and playing with the older girls._ Food? _Kabayaki and sukiyaki._ Desserts? _Senbei,_ _Manjū, Botamochi and almost any dessert ever._ Most disliked food? _Natto and tsukudani._ Colour _? Red, several shades of blue and green._

It was an amicable, even cozy little conversation and when they had both finished their meal, drank a good measure of water, they set off again. Though, this time she was tied onto his back not unlike that of a baby, but far enough up that she could throw her arms over his wide shoulders and see where they were going. By this time, the world seemed real and her body seemed hers again. The disassociation had slowly faded as they spoke and she had been forced to focus on their conversation – slowly she had calmed from the panic that leaving her mother had induced in her. It wasn’t gone, nay it simply retreated to the back of her mind and simmered quietly – undoubtedly waiting until a moment of weakness to make its return and take over again.

Chikage decided she quite disliked the illusory tint everything had taken and even more so the disconnection from her body and limbs. Disassociation was a state she would very much like to avoid.


	11. koubou ni mo fude no ayamari.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The literal translation of chapter title is: Even Buddhist teaching scrolls/scripts have some brush slips.

The continued their trip, jounin-fast and mostly spent in silence unless Chikage was humming some tune or the other. The weather was fine – not too cold nor too hot, though a bit windy because of their speed. Their good fortune only lasted until they passed the mountainrange that marked the border of Earth Country and entered into Waterfall Country. A few hours of the good weather and then the sky opened seemingly out of nowhere and released a downpour of such proportions that it would have been a cloudburst – except it kept on going.

Jiraiya, jounin and healthy if still recovering from an injure, kept going unbothered by the weather, though he did grumble about his damnable luck. Chikage was soaked through and feeling very much like a drowned rat, but wasn’t bothered much either….at first.

It did not take long before the wind and the rain that had soaked her through started becoming very cold. Two hours after the rain had started, the toddler’s teeth were chattering and she was sniffling incessantly because her nose was as runny as a faucet. When her teeth started chattering, Jiraiya must have realized that he was carrying someone whose immune system was rather more fragile than his.

Aware that he had made a gross miscalculation and neglected a rather obvious difference, he launched into a sprint. A child without an activated chakra system was much less resistant to illness and the weather than someeone with an active system….and they had been running in the rain for hours without her making a word of complaint, Guilt settled in his stomach, but they were close to the border of Fire Country and it would be considerably safer for them to sleep in an inn or a ryokan – whatever was closest.

The first place he came across was a ryokan called Hana Momiji, a tradtional and rather upscale place. When he stepped into the genkan, both of them were dripping puddles on the floor. He'd only just divested them both of their shoes when the hostess and a couple of servants arrived with professional promptness and didn’t even seem bothered by the mess, though they undoubtedly had been. An order for a room for the two of them and a warming meal was made in short order before they were led to their room by the impeccably dressed hostess.

Had he been less worried, he would have likely apologized for dripping all over the floor and making trouble for them. Alas he didn’t even spare a thought to the people who would have to clean up after him.

The fusuma door was opened for them and he had already placed the toddler on the floor. He scrutinized her and cringed at how pale she was, the lack of blood in her cheeks despite the fever he knew she had begun to suffer. Awkward and feeling guilty for the oversight, he asked her to undress so she could warm up in the bath. Despite Chikage’s best attempts, it didn’t go well. The fever she was running was rather minor, but the cold seemed to have sunken its teeth into her very bones and movement, expecially fine motor skill was difficult.

In the end, Jiraiya called a female servant to help her undress and had the elderly lady escort her to the women’s bath, while he himself – knowing he was recognizable and wouldn’t be welcome in the mixed baths went to bathe in the men’s side of the hot spring.

He had long-since finished and returned to the room, when Chikage was brought back. Hair dried and redone in a similar fashion as it had been before, but dressed in a blue-patterned nemaki kimono instead. The elderly servant had promised to take care of her original outfit and would have it delivered to them – dry and ready to be worn again – the next day. The jounin tipped the servant, expressed his thanks gruffly and started ushering the toddler to the table where their meal had been set out.

He had ordered sukiyaki since she had mentioned it was a favourite – a small way of apologizing for his carelessness and also to entice her to eat, even if the onsetting cold she was undoubtedly going to be coming down with had already impacted her appetite. Additionally, ginger tea had been prepared as well. Okayu was on the table as well, seemingly a service item they had added on their own.

Chikage ate only a few bites of the hotpot dish before protesting against anymore. He coaxed her into finishing the okayu, and she managed to almost finish it as it was easier to swallow with her aching throat and a traditional remedy against colds.

Satisfied that she had eaten, he had put her to bed in the futon that had been lain out for them in the adjoining room. He waited until she fell asleep – it took only a few moments before the fever, the warm comfortable bedding and the feeling of being full had her drifting off. It was only then, that he went out to buy medicine – though not before placing a warding seal on the door. No one would be able to enter until he returned.

It luckily didn’t take long to find a physician nor to acquire cold medicine.

He slept beside her, though shallowly as every sniffle and cough made him wince, Tsunade-hime would have beaten him over the head and called him an idiot. _Of course a four year old would fall sick after prolonged exposure._ She still might when they returned.

At dawn, when Chikage woke, she was given the medicine to drink, another large bowl of porridge and carefully redressed by the same elderly servant from the night before. The servant woman clucked her tongue and tutted at the child’s feverish face, but did her duty - though not without sending him looks of judgement in a way she might have thought subtle. Once again her cloak was tied around her neck and an extra blanket was wrapped around her.

The last day of their journey, Jiraiya carried her in his arms as he had the first night. Swaddled up like a baby in her blanket and her cloak, the toddler slept most of the the day – aided by the fever and the medicine. She had the beginnings of a small cough, too.

But finally, in the late afternoon of their third day of travel, they arrived at the wide red gates of Konoha. She was wide awake by then, eyes wide and she was reluctant to even blink as she drank in everything she could.

The village was pretty big. As a whole it seemed to have been arranged carefully – large outer walls that obviously served as a defense surrounded it. The main street was smack in the middle – almost perfectly so. The village was equally divided by the main road that led directly from the main gate to the Hokage Mountain – all in a straight line.

Jiraiya signed in at the gate, where two shinobi who were probably chuunin stood sentry. There was probably more hidden guards….weren’t they called ANBU? But they were hidden from plain view. No ID was needed for him, though – the students of the Sandaime were recognizable and known to everyone.

They went straight to the Hokage- _tei_ , the residence of the Hokage that apparently doubled as the administration building. The Hokage- _tei_ was a tall red rounded building flanked by two slightly shorter buildings placed symmetrically beside it. The main part of the Tower was also placed _just so_ that it was right in front of the mountain and adorned with the kanji for ’fire’ on it’s roof. Though she had seen more elaborate buildings, it was still a magnificient sight. Another set of walls surrounded the huge building and a good bit of land around it as well.

Their trip was over. They had finally reached their destination.


	12. ino naka no kaeru takai wo shirazu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title meaning: the frog in the well knows nothing of the great sea.

The sheer noise of the crowds as they traveled the length of the main road leading to the Hokage- _tei_ was jarring. Konohagakure was a large village – more of a city than a village in fact. One would usually call a small community of not even a thousand people in some rural countryside a village. Konoha was, frankly said, massive and had even from just the people in the street a very large and diverse population. Shinobi walked amongst the civilians with surprising casualty and ease, children ran past screeching excitedly and street vendors yelled at passersby to bring attention to their wares. The scents of innumerable different kinds of street foods, the forge of a blacksmith, and a bakery overwhelmed everything and not even her stuffy nose kept it at at bay.

It was a cacophony of noise and scents, something that to anyone else would have been exciting and enjoyable. All it did to Chikage was overstimulate her. Every single thing was too loud or too much, there were simply too many sensory inputs for her. The toddler had hardly ever left the _okiya_. She had yet to even set foot on grass in this life and her interactions with people had been limited to the employees and patrons – never had she seen that many people or been exposed to anything of that volume. Sure, she had watched the crowds from the windows of her mother’s apartments but she had been elevated and above the crowd, thus distanced and less bothersome – even if she had been in the crowds, the sheer size of it was not even comparable to their small red-light district.

The noise and the scents grated her on her nerves and set her teeth on edge. Footsteps, vendors yelling, snippets of conversation, the creak of wheels on wagons, the clinking of coins and yells of excited children all meshed together and she seemed incapable of tuning any of it out. It was a nightmare of sensory overload and unconsciously her shoulders hunched up with tension. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and her jaw was set, teeth grinding as she tried to deal with the onslaught of sensory input. In the end it all proved too much and Chikage placed her fingers in her ears, screwed her eyes shut and hid her face against Jiraiya’s chest, feeling very much like a child, unable to deal with her own frustration and incapable of really understanding or communicating it.

In hindsight, her hearing had always seemed quite good – especially in comparison to her elder sisters and the others at _okiya_ , but it wasn’t until that moment that she realized how much she could hear, how intense every single sound was and wondered whether her senses could possibly be enhanced. That could explain why the level of noise almost hurt, even if it wasn’t just being unaccustomed with such a crowd and city living.

There was an urge to just _bolt_ and get the hell out of there, to find any place quiet and remote, but the toddler was well aware that she wouldn’t get far and that all she would manage to do was get lost in a city where she knew exactly one person – and even that person was largely an unknown to her, but he was all she had and for that she was grateful. The mere thought of being left alone in a new place and with strangers terrified the not-toddler – none of these people were known entities to her; who could she trust? Who would survive long enough to actually be of help and who would die the moment she got attached? Who had dubious influences like that whatshisname bandaged guy that kidnapped children like some kind of cryptid.

In her mind’s eye, the insecurity and all the unknowns rose like shadows, all with terrible twisted faces and wide predatory grins – her own fear and anxiety taking form to mock her. ….she shook her head to rid herself of it and felt like her fever had worsened.

The trip from the main gates to the tower took all of five minutes, but seemed like an eternity to Chikage, but when they finally arrived, the jounin who’d been her transport simply jumped in through the window like he owned the place. Idly she wondered how he knew that the Hokage wasn’t in an important meeting? Wasn’t it terribly rude to just…show up unannounced?

Her worries were in vain, however, because the Sandaime did not seem surprised at the arrival of Jiraiya. He was surprised to see her, though. Jiraiya came in through the window and made a perfunctory bow. ”Yo, sensei! I’m back already! Didn’t take as long as expected!” He rattled off casually, a wide grin on his face as if acting like usual would make the situation better.

All it did was create a weird and awkward tension as the Sandaime leaned back in his chair, slid his gaze from his wayward and immature student to the bundle in his arms and raised his eyebrows. A moment of silence passed. Finally, shoulders dropping, he sighed and asked in a flat tone, sounding tired already:”What kind of trouble did you cause this time?”

Jiraiya grimaced, laughing awkwardly in that particularly booming voice of his and put Chikage down, so she could stand on her own. She wobbled a bit, the cold had effectively zapped her of all energy and made her unsteady on her feet. The blanket slipped from her shoulders and dropped to the ground as she looked around warily, distracted by the new environment. It was a pretty large room and to her relief, much quieter than the streets had been. Paintings decorated the walls, but the hardwood desk dominated the room. It had a veritable mountain of paperwork on it and behind it, sat the Sandaime.

Not the one she was used to, though. The man behind the desk was young still. There was no kindly old man, no aura of a harmless grandfather. This man was tired, yes, but not like his older self had been. Sarutobi Hiruzen radiated power and authority – there was a strange pressure in the air in his vicinity and his capability for lethality could not be ignored. He was effortlessly intimidating – even in his tired state. He was tall, his spine not yet bent with age and his shoulders were wide: this man was still strong enough to shoulder the weight of world, to hold up the sky for his village – Atlas not quite in his prime, but still a with the strength of a god. His face was still mostly unmarked by age, war and loss had yet to carve themselves onto it in the form of wrinkles - the only sign of age were the beginnings of crow's feet by his eyes, but that really was the extent of it. Had he not been wearing the robes, she might not have recognized who he was. 

There was no doubt that she was in front of a man of unimaginable power – physical and political. A military dictator of absolute authority – a shogun of his village and the surrounding lands. Chikage swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and her legs trembled as the urge to just _bolt_ returned with a vengeance.

Her observations and the mounting anxiety got interrupted by a sudden voice. ”…and who might this be?” Sarutobi asked seemingly casual.

”Introduce yourself.” Jiraiya said gruffly as he gave her a gentle push forward, not helping her already shaky balance. She managed to stay upright by some minor miracle and felt very small and very out of place: as if something was very wrong. Something in her felt like such an interaction should have taken place with her on on her knees, making a proper deep bow, made in _seiza_ in front of dais in some fancy castle and not in a relatively modern – even by the standards of her old life – office with all the casualty of meeting an old school teacher instead of someone who was effectively king.

”How do you do. I am called Takao Chikage.” She introduced herself, formally and somehow managing not to sound like a cowering, quivering mess.

”Please be kind to me.” She finished her introduction, settling for a proper _futsuurei_ bow instead. Back straight, hands on her thighs, feet together, she bowed at a 45° angle. Custom dictated that she should lead with her family name, but as a fatherless child, there was no family register to add her to. Komurasaki had never mentioned her surname or original name to her, but she’d found it out after she snuck into the office of the _hahaue-sama_ of the _okiya._ So even though this was her first time introducing herself, and suddenly placed in sucha position, she opted for using her maternal family name which very much went against convention, but at least it wouldn't be as embarrassing as introducing herself without a family name at all.

The Sandaime squinted his hawk-ish eyes at her and hummed a perfunctory response, sounding pleasant enough, but nothing like the grandfatherly image she had - until that very moment - associated with him. ”Well met, child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hullo loves, i apologize for the lack of updates.
> 
> i had a twenty-page exam and on the day the questions were released, i had to go the ER and uh...i was in hospital for a bit, had to seek an extension for the exam due to the time spent in hospital and (i miraculously passed despite taking pain meds three times a day the whole time) ..then classes started, so life came at me fast and i basically forgot all about this. sorry :( 
> 
> this is basically filler, the next one is not far behind.
> 
> 1\. her last name means warrior son, alluding to the samurai heritage that Komurasaki's family boasted of.


	13. kuchi ga suberu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title meaning: a slip of the mouth - equivalent of to spill the beans or cat's out of the bag

After the introduction, Sarutobi did that odd upwards nod and a masked person seemingly manifested in mid-air and ushered her over to the couch in the corner, offering her paper and actual coloured crayons to draw with – when had they invented that? It had certainly not been available in any market near otherwise Komurasaki would have most certainly bought it for her. All of it was clearly meant to distract her so that the pair of them could converse in peace.

Feeling a bit insulted at being viewed as easily distractible, Chikage sullenly grabbed a blue crayon, somewhere in the back of her mind still marveling at its mere existence and the brightness of the colour, and began doodling absent-mindedly – her focus on listening in to the conversation taking place and not being obvious about it.

”Care to explain?” Sarutobi murmured, his tone clearly indicating it wasn’t a mere suggestion as he began stuffing his pipe with the good pipeweed he’d gotten from Tea Country and glancing surreptitiously at the face of his student, feeling rather nostalgic at the clear embarrassment written all over it. The situation was a familiar one and the embarrassment made his student seem almost like a child again. Jiraiya had always had a propensity for getting into trouble, for doing pranks and for the accidents his non-malicious carelessness wrought.

Sarutobi wasn’t quite what the cause for embarrassment was, but it was rather obvious that he had made a blunder. His usually boisterous student was standing restlessly, almost tripping in place, face flushed and had he been twelve years old again, he would have undoubtedly been pushing his fingers together, lips pursed and eyes averted. The corner of the older man’s lips twitched with amusement at the mental image as he lit the pipe.

Squaring his shoulders and trying not to act like guilty academy student, Jiraiya tried to report.

”Komurasaki-ch..” Jiraiya started awkwardly, saw his sensei’s raised eyebrows at the intimate suffix and interrupted himself, grimacing at his slip of professionalism. ”The client, Komurasaki-sama, wished for an escort of her daughter to Konohagakure, due to the negative reactions of her colleagues and the servants following her assault.”

Sarutobi, whose attention had drifted over to watch the child docilely drawing in the corner, returned it to Jiraiya with more than just mild surprise on his face. An assault on a high-ranked oiran of notable celebrity was practically unheard of. ”An assault?” He prompted, curious as he exhaled smoke through his nostrils.

”An unworthy patron, whom I assume they took on due to recent financial difficulties that have hit the whole district, reacted violently to being dismissed and it ended in a rather permanent manner – though luckily the client was largely unharmed. She was rescued just in time.” The jounin responded promptly, hinting with a subtle headnod towards the child in the corner.

”Why would anyone react negatively to the survival of their best asset, especially in the face of financial insecurity?” The Sandaime wondered, his eyebrows drawing together in a small frown.

”The patron died following the assault, having essentially impaled himself on his own blade.” An amused look was shared by the two, the irony of dying by ones own blade not lost on people who lived by it as well. Jiraiya continued, his voice lowered so as to avoid upsetting the kid, whom they were both aware was listening in. Her attempt to be subtle was admirable…for a civilian toddler. ”As I understand it, the lack of reaction on _her_ part for taking a life branded her ominous and everyone seemingly avoided her afterwards.” Rolling his eyes, he muttered under his breath,”Bloody superstitious civilians.”

The Sandaime was less obvious, but a small wrinkle of his nose expressed his distaste and hummed his agreement with the sentiment. Civilians were rather excessively frightened of shinobi and just about anything they didn’t quite understand. Everything they didn’t know or feel comfortable with was treated with extreme prejudice, a rather less than admirable trait.

Nodding slowly as comprehension dawned, the older man placed his pipe in his mouth and motioned for Jiraiya to continue his report, casually looking through documents on his desk and moving paperwork he’d finished over to the large stack. The jounin finally decided to just face the kunai head on, took a deep breath and confessed the rest in rush of words, ”The client requested an escort because it wasn’t safe to raise the kid there anymore, Iwa shinobi had started looking for talented kids to recruit and she’s already blooded, so she preferred Konoha over Iwa and _thought-she-might-send-her-to-her-father-to-be-raised.”_

An embarrassed second of silence. ” _That being….me._ ”

Sarutobi Hiruzen stilled for just a moment as the words sunk in, then looked up at his student, open-mouthed shock written all over his face. So stunned was he by the news, that he dropped his lit pipe into his own lap and had to get up because the burning pipeweed spilled over the white _kage_ robes.

Unfortunately in the rush to get up, _The God of Shinobi_ accidentally bumped his desk, effectively sending all his neatly stacked paperwork flying. Eyes wide, he hardly reacted to the paper now strewn all over the room. He turned his gaze to Chikage, who had long abandoned any pretense of not paying attention and was blatantly staring at them, looking like she didn’t know whether to run and hide or sit tight, hoping not to get noticed. ”…That’s your daughter?” Sarutobi repeated, not really expecting a reply. He was only in his late forties and he’d already been made a grandfather?! Mind blank, he stared at the kid, looking for similarities and not really finding any except the colour of her eyes.

Dropping back into his chair, knees weak all of a sudden, he took a moment to calm down. Jiraiya stared at the mess, then at his sensei and disappeared into thin air with rushed,”Congratulations, grandpa, please don’t beat me up!”

Sighing heavily, the Sandaime shook his head at the foolishness of his student and glanced at the kid who’d just been left there by her own father. What kind of shinobi got someone pregnant and didn’t bloody know he had a child for years? A careless dolt, that’s who. ”Bat, take …..” he paused for a second, ”Chikage-chan to visit Tsunade at the hospital. Tell her to administer tests, fast-track it.” Glancing at the paperwork strewn everywhere, he looked heavenward, as if praying for strength. He must have owed Tobirama-sensei a debt in a former life, it was the only possible explanation for his entire life to be such a trial. Divine punishment, karma, he had never bothered to worry about such a thing before, but perhaps he should have.

The shinobi who’d been sitting at her side, ’entertaining’ her but who hadn't moved or said a word to her, responded with a brief, ”yes, Hokage-sama.” then proceeded to just tuck her under his arm like he was carrying a ball instead of a child. The toddler protested such rude treatment, attempted to kick at him for being so rude but failed due to the unfair disadvantage of her legs being too short, gave up and hung limp. A weird feeling of compression had her looking around and she realized he had straight up teleported them away…or that’s what Chikage assumed he did as they had been in the office one moment and in the next, they were in what looked like a hospital.

The sterile-looking hall of a hospital. Bat, still carrying the her, knocked on the door and got a frustrated, gruff ”What now?” in response. Bat said nothing, he simply stayed where he was and waited. A minute passed. The sound of someone cursing like a sailor could be heard. At last, the door was opened by a clearly annoyed, flustered looking Tsunade. ”Hokage-sama’s orders.” He announced flatly, handing over the toddler carelessly like he had never held a child in his life – which was entirely possible. ”Check up, tests, paternity - the whole nine-yards, stat.” He elaborated very briefly before popping away again. Which left Tsunade holding Chikage out in stretched arm, looking her up and down suspiciously. ”Well, who the fuck’s brat are you?”

”Jiraiya-sama.” said brat responded sullenly, having given up even trying to resist being rudely man-handled by the super-powered, socially inept shinobi. ”Or so they tell me. ” Irritated, exhausted and feeling generally unwell, the kid couldn't bring herself to bother about social niceties and etiquette, none of the adults were doing it, so why would she? In such a state, she had no energy left to pretend childishness as she usually did - or at least acted it up. Her personality and her child brain were meshing, but it was taking a while and in the meantime, it was hard to recall if she had always been childish or if it was caused by the body she inhabited. 

Senju Tsunade, in all her beautiful glory - even with her hair a mess she was still a bombshell - stared at the kid for a second, noting the flushed condition of her cheeks, the shininess of her eyes and the continuous sniffling then frowned a bit, worried. At last, she walked across the room, dropped Chikage onto the uncomfortable and cold examination bed, shaking her head. ”What a fucking idiot.” ….a moment of silence passed before the female Sannin added,glancing worriedly at the kid, ”No offense."

Throwing her hands up in an _i-give-up_ gesture, she snorted, ”Of course, who else would it be?” as she went over to kick the door shut, so she could follow orders.


End file.
